Beach Walker

By Lawrence Hart

On a beach in South Florida a young man walks the beach every evening. Between the mansions and beautiful Atlantic Ocean, he has nothing. Totally alone. His parents shunned him when his addiction caused the death of a young woman. Newspapers screamed for him to be punished. He tried to die in a bottle. Didn't work. But he is recovering from the mess he's made of his life. A mansion owner sees him every night walking the beach, then finally approaches the young man about working for him...sort of. From that night on, his whole life begins a whirlwind pace. New people enter his life. Things happen in ways he never dreamed possible. He discovers skills he never dreamed he had. Yes, God has forgiven him, but does he have a future after all the bad he's done?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645694373

Book preview

Chapter 1

Almost eleven months later

It was Sunday night. He would arrive about the same time as last night, and the day before, and the day before that, except for the two days he missed last week. Flu or something, he guessed.

Give or take ten or fifteen minutes, who cared as long as he was here. The same place, the same beach, the same ocean, it was the only place that allowed him to think and hope. A place to review the day’s events and then try to forget some of his horrible mistakes. Mistakes that had caused the situation in which he found himself. Not the beach of course, but the condition of his mind and health. His recovery. His future. He’d already messed up his past.

Three hundred and nineteen days and counting. He would make it. He had to. What else was there? He promised her.

He drove his fifteen-year-old Jeep into the Blowing Rocks Nature Preserve Park visitor’s lot, parked, then got out and headed for the beach. He wore the standard peer-influenced apparel, starting with removable sandals, of course. Then an appropriately aged pair of Bermuda shorts instead of jeans, which he wore only if the shorts were dirty or it was cool, topped with a bland grey T-shirt, no slogans, and a black baseball cap today, but not every day. Beach walkers had a dress code, right? Never.

Several people said hello, recognizing him from previous visits, as he walked from the parking lot through the winding trail through the sea grapes. He didn’t know any names, just remembered faces, friendly faces mostly, enjoying what he was enjoying, but for different reasons. His reason was known only to him. They’d probably shun him again if they knew.

Blowing Rocks Nature Preserve Park was a public area located on the very exclusive Jupiter Island, on the north side of Jupiter, Florida, named for the rock formations producing geyser like sprays of water when the surf was up, like some days, but not today. It was blowing yesterday and a lot more trash washed up on the beach. Today it was calmer.

Located almost two miles north from the Jupiter Inlet, you could walk to the south and the Jupiter Inlet or north toward Hobe Sound. The south walk was smoother with mostly sand, but the north walk was rockier and more challenging. He varied the routes depending on the day’s problems and the amount of people at the beach. Usually the fewer people either way won out, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t plan to talk to anyone anyway. He wasn’t rude and would respond to brief questions and hellos, with smiles or nods, but mainly he just walked and thought, walked and reviewed, planned, and sometimes even talked to her, but always encouraged himself. Tomorrow would be three hundred and twenty days. His goal was a year, then whatever, if he made it. It seemed impossible months ago.

He was born January 23, 1994, in Stuart, Florida. Now at a little over six feet and around 190 pounds, he was the youngest of three children, all boys. They named him after a character in the Bible. He wondered if that really mattered now. Did he really believe any more? Of course he did, he reasoned, just not so much the extra stuff like before his problems.

His parents were good people for the most part, very religious, a little strict at times, but supportive all through school, until he graduated, until he’d been caught, then messed up and she was killed. He hadn’t spoken to his father in almost three years. The first two years from his father’s decision, the rest at his brother’s insistence and his father’s refusal to change. He’d disgraced the family, broken too many rules for them to ever forget. His parents abandoned him. They called it shunning. Too much water under the bridge, someone said, whatever that meant.

Walking through the sea grapes was like life was meant to be for him when you graduated from high school and hoped to start a life. Many shaded areas followed by bright sunlight and the wondrous power of the sea. Wide views of water, sand, saw grass, and yes, seaweed and trash, washed up from yesterday’s winds. That’s why he carried a plastic bag with him at all times, always picking up the reminders of his past. They were everywhere some days.

Which way to go today? he asked himself as he exited the sea grapes. It was calmer than yesterday. The geysers would not arrive today, so it wouldn’t really matter. He decided to go south, to the inlet, past the multi-million dollar homes and condominiums. He’d clean up the beach a little for them.

What did the people do in those homes? Where did the vast amounts of money come from? Most were occupied only during the winter and left boarded up for the summer during hurricane season, of course. Would he ever own one someday? He chuckled. Would he ever own anything like these places? Never, he had nothing, but day by day he was recovering.

The houses were huge majestic monuments to money, success, and status. There were beautiful plants and palm trees around pools with multi-storied high glass windows overlooking the sea. He never saw many people around the homes. Of course the fences were high and gates locked, but still, was anyone there watching all the people go by every day? Did they even talk to the common folk, like him or worse, like he used to be? Probably not. He didn’t really blame them.

He noticed the girl again on a paddleboard moving parallel to the shore. A good-looking young lady, he realized as he walked. Medium height, he guessed, lean and tan, with her ponytail waving in the light breeze. She reminded him briefly of Jeanie. The one for him even though they were only in high school. He was convinced, she was convinced, but their parents were not. They were too young, they said. Didn’t matter now. She was dead. Gone forever, because of him.

He continued to walk, in and out of the water while splashing, kicking at shells and sometimes startling seagulls.

Further ahead he saw two adults and three kids, probably out searching for turtle mounds. Looking, but not disturbing them. It was against the law.

He again thought briefly of Jeanie. Her smile, her vitality, her everything, gone because of his new friends, the new church, and of course the one person who would get a special visit from him someday soon.

The friends and the church meant well, but they were so naïve, he now realized, especially that man and his horrible advice or teachings, as he liked to say. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, his father always used to say. He didn’t say anything now, to him anyway. Shunned forever.

He figured he’d find one or more, and he wasn’t disappointed. Two empty beer cans were laying in the water, moving back and forth from the beach, bobbing with the waves as they broke across the sand.

That was what the bag was for mostly.

Picking them up out the water, he put them into the bag, then looked for more and saw the remains of a fire on the beach up toward the houses. Drunk kids probably, he thought, like he was just a few months ago.

Sure enough there were a few more cans up there, so he headed to the spot of the fire, picked up seven more, and added them to his bag. About average for the night, he figured as he looked around, then headed back toward the water.

Resuming his walk south, he saw another family up ahead. A little boy was kicking a soccer ball with another older man, maybe his father. It didn’t really matter, just the sight brought back another painful memory of what could have been, yet that’s how he’d got his present job.

The last years in high school he became very good at soccer and swimming. The playing seasons were at different times during the school year, so he competed in both sports.

Soccer was primarily his game, and it showed. Nearby Palm Beach Atlantic University played very competitive soccer and had won several conference titles. Some coaches from PBAU visited one of his games and mentioned a scholarship to his family. The middle of his junior year he received notices from other schools, but his parents were initially encouraged because PBAU was a Christian school and they had little money for college. He signed a letter of intent after his junior year, after Stuart High School won the district title, with him receiving honorable mention. If only.

Oh, to have a way to redo some things, he thought as he continued walking. But he had to get off those memories and focus on the future. He had a job, a place to stay, an old Jeep, and food every day. His health was good even though he hadn’t seen a doctor in years, but no friends, except his fellow workers. It was lonely, and that was fine for now. Stay on track. One year.

Of course there were always so-called friends to be had at the local hangouts, looking for a good time, looking for anything except responsibility for their actions. Actions he’d been involved in for a short time, a time that would impact him forever.

Three hundred and twenty days tomorrow, he realized again as he stopped at the Jupiter Inlet and watched the boats enter and leave the channel. The turbulence of the water reminded him of his life up to now. Still plenty of time to make amends and start over even without the support of his family. He missed them from time to time.

Turning around and starting back north, he checked again the rocks near the inlet. Sure enough there were bottles and cans to add to his collection. He stepped carefully around the rocks, retrieved three cans and two bottles, put them in his bag, and then headed back north. He decided to move faster, get his heart rate up, and maybe go a little north beyond the Blowing Rocks area if he felt good enough. Tonight he felt better than most.

The deal he’d made with himself was fairly simple. Review the past as it came to mind while he walked, but always switch to the positive on the return. Never, never end on a negative. One hour or so of time each evening. Every day.

The ocean was a cleansing agent for almost anything, he reminded himself as he continued walking in and out of the shallows. Keep to the plan, stay clean, and be ready for life’s problems.

He’d even run the beach a few times, but enjoyed the walk more mainly because he could see more things besides the bottles, cans, and other forms of trash. Things like people, schools of fish, boats, the occasional turtle, but mostly people. Did they have problems like him? Had they survived detox and rehab like him? How did they handle their guilt, if they had any? He had enough to share with several people at times it seemed.

Too many questions for one lifetime, he realized. Get back to your plan. Be responsible for yourself and no one else, right? Well, initially anyway. Get your own life fixed before you help or even criticize anyone else.

The girl on the paddleboard was no longer out in the water as he continued north. Nice girl, he thought to himself. She’d been out here before a few times. Did she have a boyfriend? Why did he even think about that? Look what happened the last time. She was nothing for him to be concerned about.

He headed for the sea grapes, found his way to the parking area, tossed his bag into the trash can, and then headed for his Jeep. Another day free of the poison, free of those terrible alcohol-influenced decisions, but never free of the memories.

The night would be short as he had an early start time for his job tomorrow. Eight months he’d worked for him. Only one raise from the eleven dollars an hour he started at, but it was a job.

He lived at the YMCA. Seventy-five dollars a week and all the exercise he could stand. That left enough for gas and food, nothing else. He didn’t need anything else, just a chance to right some things down the road when the opportunity arrived. Until then he’d walk, every night if possible, cleanse his mind, and seek opportunities to ask forgiveness of some people, like his father, when he could, and keep sober no matter what. He’d come so far, learned so much after the fact. Why hadn’t someone warned him? Would he have even listened then?

The sea, the sand, the sun, the birds, and the wind, all welcomed him every evening. A man he respected said God had forgiven him, and he hoped that was true as it kept him going whenever the memories came rushing back like a rogue wave. If only someone would invent a forgiveness meter so he could visually check and make sure every day. You just had to trust Him, the man said, no matter what anyone else said about you. The man meant well anyway.

The Jeep started right away, then he bowed his head and thanked the Lord, the man said He was always listening, for another day free of the mind controlling junk that ruined so much, especially Jeanie. She was gone, but he remained to endure the embarrassment, the harassment, the sneers, and mostly the guilt. If only he could trade places with her. It was so hard sometimes.

Chapter 2

He was out there again, John Warren said to his wife as they sat on the patio.

The waves were settling in for the night and the sun was just beginning to set on a beautiful evening while darkness was spreading like a curtain being slowly closed.

Who?

The young man I’ve seen out there just about every night since we moved down here.

Do you think he’s casing our place, like for a break-in or worse?

No. There’s something about him though. Real contemplative, serious-like, and seems to like picking up trash, for some reason. Those kids left some junk on the beach last night again, and he came up and picked it all up.

So he still could be checking us out, she replied.

Trust me, he’s not, honey, he reassured her.

How do you know for sure?

Nothing’s for sure with people, but I have an idea about him, he replied.

Like what?

I would like to have someone check on the place regularly for us since were gone a lot, maybe even stay here. Those reports about smugglers, refugees, and drugs coming in all the time has me a little concerned.

Oh, John. You can’t be serious. Really, you don’t know anything about him, not even his name.

But I can find out, honey. I do know how to use a computer, you know, he replied, sitting up suddenly then bending forward seeing some gulls dive toward the beach in the darkening skies. Probably after baby turtles making their way out of the nest and heading for the water.

That you do know for sure, but you first need a name.

No problem. I’ll go out and ask him some evening.

John slid back down in the seat as the gulls flew away and wondered about something.

Has Allison returned yet?

Yes, she’s back and already left. Her new boyfriend called her cell phone again while she was out paddle boarding. He’s rather annoying, but she’s determined to take it slow, Mary replied.

Her life, dear. She’s twenty-three and full of life according to my brother, he commented.

He’s not much help anyway if you ask me, she replied.

Allison’s father was a drunk, in and out of rehab over the years.

I know, but right now I need someone to watch the place even for when Allison is visiting for a few hours. He doesn’t have to live here right away. We’ll see how it works, if he’ll even agree to it, then go from there, he explained.

Still, if he’s staying here when we’re gone and Allison shows up, there could be a problem, she warned.

Why?

She’s very attractive and single. She doesn’t need another guy pestering her or worse, she advised.

He may not even agree. Let me talk to him first. May not work at all, but he is pretty regular it seems. I need someone I can depend on and maybe even do some work around here, he suggested.

Your call, but be careful. We don’t know many people around here yet. Just check him out carefully, she replied.

I will, dear, trust me, he answered.

His wife left the patio and headed back into the house while he stayed and rethought some of the reasons he wanted someone here all the time. Some powerful people, dangerous people, knew about him and his success with computers, especially the new APP programs he’d developed. The last buyout offer had been for an obscene amount, but based on false information, which one of his new programs had quickly uncovered.

He also had ideas and plans based on customer requests. Unusual requests requiring skills in the not so distant future that he’d given lectures about. Computers, video cameras, artificial intelligence along with human intelligence mixed with advanced physical conditioning and skills, all fused together for good or evil. Maybe he was paranoid, but bad people were still everywhere, even in a paradise area like south Florida. People who would like to know any inside information about how he planned to meet those needs, the same people he had moved away from geographically, but thanks to the Internet could find him in minutes with the right programs and time.

He figured he had three years before someone else would implement anything similar to his ideas.

His security system was top-notch, but human eyes and ears were still the best for initial observations and decisions. People did bad things to get any advantage. Bad things that he had picked up on before the move almost six months ago from New Jersey.

After several unusual and extensive interior modifications, Ted Bell, the owner of Bell’s Security, a local company in Jupiter, had installed both the house security and Internet firewalls at the house. His initial meeting with Ted, after a thorough background check, plus his own knowledge of the computer business, had convinced him using Bell’s Security was the right way to go.

Once he got the young man’s name, Ted could do a check on him in no time. Until then, he’d just keep an eye on the place until his wife wanted to travel again, picking up ideas and taking her with him to places she dreamed of seeing before they got too old. With no children or grandchildren to spend money on, why not?

Maybe he’d catch the young man sometime this week and ask him some questions. Nothing deep, just get an initial read, then decide.

Chapter 3

Three days later, Allison Warren walked into the Premier Cleaners Office on time she thought, until she looked at the clock on the wall. It read 7:15. She was late. The watch she lost when paddle boarding the other day had to be replaced soon.

She’d been here for six months after finding the listing on Craigslist for an assistant manager’s position. It was her third job in less than eighteen months since taking four and a half years to do a four-year business administration degree program at Palm Beach State College, thanks to not much money and parents with even less. Her work ethic was admirable, but her social life was zip, except for Foster Adams, who oddly enough, just started hanging around for some reason. How he even knew she was alive still confused her.

Foster Adams was an acquaintance from her high school days up in Stuart, Florida. He was the older school cool dude and supposed heartthrob, but had shown no interest in Allison when they were in school, but now he was almost a nuisance.

She figured the reason for some of that interest was probably due to her maturing. She was no longer the skinny girl with braces, glasses, and stupid hair. Now fifteen pounds heavier, toned from a regular exercise program, with longer blond hair, no braces and contacts, she didn’t resemble anything from her high school days. Still, no one noticed because she had to work all the time, which was okay with her for now, until Foster Adams began showing up, with his friends and their habits.

Thankfully her uncle, John Warren, and his wife, Mary, had recently moved to Jupiter, Florida, and had purchased a magnificent home on Jupiter Island, right on the Atlantic Ocean just north of the Jupiter Inlet. They let her visit whenever she could, and she took advantage of it almost every weekend or more if she could swing it. It was great all by herself just to rest, tan, and read. She wanted to be more social though, and men weren’t completely off her radar.

Her uncle had money, lots of it to be able to afford a house on the ocean, no less. She didn’t know what he did, and he never mentioned anything other than the computer business which was the rage and meant nothing to her. But Foster continually asked her about him even though she couldn’t answer most of his questions. Foster even knew about her uncle’s new place and was always wanting to come over with her. So far she’d held off, but Foster was being persistent.

Her boss, the store manager, Bill Dunn, walked up from the back of the store as she settled into the routine of opening up, with one customer already waiting who had followed her through the door.

Yes, sir. Can I help you? she asked the customer, quickly seeing Mr. Dunn approach.

The man laid some clothes on the counter.

Name and phone number please? she asked.

He gave the information, then added, Three shirts, heavy starch, hangers, and these pants, please.

Allison entered the information into the register on the counter, waited for the results, then replied.

Tomorrow afternoon after three o’clock, okay? she said, handing him his claim ticket.

That’s fine, thank you, the man replied, turned, and left.

Hey, Allison, Mr. Dunn said, smiling.

Sorry I was late. Won’t happen again, sir, she replied, knowing she needed to keep this job.

The owner of Premier Cleaners was one of her heroes, even though the owner probably didn’t even know she worked there yet Allison knew of the lady.

Elizabeth Carson Allen was the owner of Premier Cleaners. A chain of twelve stores in the Palm Beach County area. Allison had heard of Beth Carson, as she was known, for years and admired her business skills and had done a paper on her history for one of her advanced business classes.

She was now married to the detective, Jake Allen, of the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Department. A man not without controversy in the area. The son of a Miami mobster, who broke from the family years ago. He was well-known in the area, but also said to be very private, especially now with their two-month-old daughter.

No problem, things happen. Had a nice weekend? he asked.

Rather quiet really. I did some paddle boarding north of the Jupiter Inlet. It’s great exercise when the waves aren’t too high.

With anyone this time? You said you liked it.

No, just by myself and the people on the beach, she replied.

I thought there was a guy hanging around?

Oh, him? Just someone I knew in high school. He was the hot guy then, she admitted.

Yeah, how’s that going?

Nowhere right now. Sometimes he’s okay, then he gets rude and bossy. I don’t know what he’s going to do next. Add a little alcohol and I want to get away from him, she answered.

It’s probably just a little social drinking or something. Kids, you know. A mature guy might treat you better, he volunteered.

She wondered briefly at her manager’s concern.

He’s probably twenty-five at least. Not a kid anymore. Anyway, I’m in no hurry.

It pays to be careful I’m sure. I sent your six-month review on to the boss, Mrs. Allen. You should be getting a call, he informed her.

She sucked in a breath.

Why, did I do something wrong?

Not hardly, I gave you very high marks so you’ll get a call and probably a raise, he commented, then looked past Allison to the front door. Here comes another customer pulling up. Talk to you later, he said and backed away.

Allison turned and saw a young man get out of an old black Jeep with some clothes draped over his arm. He seemed to be about her age, she guessed as she watched him approach the front door. He looked a little familiar, but she was so excited about the good news from the manager, she let it slide.

He entered and stopped at the counter.

May I help you?

He didn’t really smile, but his eyes were electric and she almost turned away. He kept staring at her. Did he recognize her or did she know him? He was dressed for work in clean but older clothes. Being well-tanned with a plain gray T-shirt, lots of long brownish-blond hair, tan shorts, and work shoes, he didn’t look too bad, in fact, he looked rather…

Stop, he’s a customer, she quickly told herself.

As if he forgot, he suddenly tossed a wrinkled white oxford shirt and two pairs of navy blue slacks down on the counter.

Heavy starch, folded and dry clean the pants, please. Thanks, he said.

She broke her stare and entered the information in the register.

Name and phone number please?

Could I just pay now and not give any of that out?

It seemed a strange request, but customer first, right?

We usually don’t do that, let me check with the manager, she said, smiling.

Sure.

He still looked familiar, but she left anyway to find Bill Dunn.

Bill came walking back up to the front with Allison a few minutes later, but stopped when he saw the young man.

Oh, him, he said to Allison as he then moved closer to the young man.

Hey, how are you doing? Bill Dunn asked.

Fine, sir. Sorry for all the confusion.

No problem, Allison, he’s good to go, he told her, then left.

Okay then, that will be seven dollars and fifty-five cents, she said to the young man.

He reached into his shorts, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to her. A few seconds later, she returned the change, plus the claim check along with the receipt. He started to leave, but turned back to her.

He’d noticed the fancy car parked to the side. Probably wasn’t hers, but he had to ask.

That’s your car out there?

Oh, no, she laughed lightly. My manager says it’s a loaner from the dealer. He says his BMW is being worked on. I have an old blue Honda Civic out to the right, she replied.

Some loaner, he thought, expensive, black, and shiny. Maybe someday.

How long you been paddle boarding? he asked quickly.

What?

Saw you last night. Your hair looks good in the evening light, anyway, thanks.

She looked him over a second time and again liked what she saw.

You live out there?

Now he laughed.

Not hardly, I just enjoy the beach in the evening. Be careful out there, sharks and all, bye, he said, then went through the door.

She followed him with her eyes as he got in the black Jeep, backed up, then left.

There was something familiar about him, but that went away when the next customer came through the door.

*****

One day later Richard and Beverly Barnes sat at the breakfast table in their small house in Stuart, Florida.

He called again last night you know, she said to her husband.

So what did he want this time? he responded as he read the paper.

They were sitting at the table in their kitchen after having breakfast.

Nothing. You know he never asks for anything, just to speak to you.

Not happening after what he did, he replied.

That’s what I told him, but it was so long ago. When will you ever forgive him? she asked.

I forgave him, Beverly, but I’ll never forget what he did to this family, he replied.

You mean what he did to your reputation in the church, right?

He looked up at her scorning.

You really believe that?

He was just a boy, Richard. He made a mistake with some bad friends. They were underage. He fessed up, went into some kind of a detox I heard, and now he has no family support at all. I don’t know where he lives or anything about him, she said, choking up.

How long did you talk to him?

Long enough to know I want my son back. He’s so serious now, like he’s on a mission to fix things with all those people, including Jeanie’s folks.

Sounds like those AA people. Always trying to make everything right when you can’t change some things ever. He embarrassed this family horribly, Bev. I won’t ever get over that, he stated.

Then you never forgave him, Richard.

Whatever, he replied, going back to his paper.

He told me it’s been over three hundred days now he’s been clean.

So I’ve been clean, as they say, forever. His own fault and those friends he started hanging around with at that new church.

He says he’s done with those people, and I believe him. He also wished me a happy birthday for next week.

Yes, I know, I’ll remember, he said, flipping to another page of the paper.

Don’t you miss him at all? she pleaded.

He looked up to answer.

Sure, I guess, sometimes. All that we gave him and he goes and gets involved with that group and then Jeanie gets killed. I don’t miss any of that, he commented, then went back to reading.

She got up from the table and walked to the sink, put her dishes in, then returned, but didn’t sit down.

I have a confession to make, Richard, she said.

Finally he put the paper down and waited.

I gave him some money for his birthday last month. It was just twenty dollars of my own, she admitted.

I thought you didn’t know where he lived.

I don’t, and he won’t tell me. I left it here on the porch for him as he suggested. It was gone the next day. I haven’t seen him in over three years, she revealed loudly.

He took money from you?

I literally begged him to take it. I’ve forgiven him too, so yell at me if you must, she said, lowering her head.

He folded the paper, stood up, went to her, and then hugged her.

I’m not a monster, Bev. He hurt me more than you realize. You know I took a lot of flak from the other deacons, but we have standards for our family. Matt and Mark are doing fine, well, Mark is anyway.

I know, I know. But how can you just do away with him forever? He’s still our son, Richard, she asked as she looked up at him.

Ask Jeanie’s parents how they feel. Jeanie is gone forever, because of him, he replied, releasing her.

She pushed herself away from him, looked away for a minute, but then turned back.

I talk to Jeanie’s mom a lot. She’s forgiven him, Richard.

She could have said more, but the rest was a secret Jeanie’s mom had asked her not to reveal, ever.

Well, good for her.

Richard!

I mean, that’s fine, but the fact remains that he killed a girl.

No, no, no, that’s not true, and you know it. He wasn’t driving, she was.

Because he was too drunk to drive, Beverly. Don’t forget the facts, he hollered.

She so wanted to tell him the truth, but had sworn to Jeanie’s mother not to tell what she knew, what had to have been a factor in the accident. Maybe he would forgive him if he knew the real story. Probably not.

Chapter 4

Foster Adams entered the small house on Center Street just three blocks west of the Intra Coastal Waterway in Jupiter, Florida. He was told to be here at four o’clock, and he was early. He’d made contact with the girl as suggested, so what else did they want? The smell hit immediately, reminded him of stale air, beans, and some coffee aromas mixed in with cigarette smoke. Not a comfortable place to be in the summer, for sure.

This could be his big chance to make a score and set up his future with these people, they said. Just do as you’re told, be prompt, don’t ask any questions, and above all, don’t ever, ever tell anyone any names, descriptions of people, nothing, or you’ll wake up with a missing head or worse. Still, the chance to make some real money was too intoxicating to refuse, especially with what he already owed.

There was a chair in the corner, so he sat down and then looked around seeing mostly bare, dirty walls with some old wooden chairs scattered around, one window exposing the house next door and another door off to his left. There were voices he heard, probably from behind the door, so he just waited and hoped they wanted what he offered or had something useful for him to do other than check on the house. Anything for money. Suddenly, there was a cry from behind the door.

No, no, I didn’t mean to, please, he heard loudly, followed by a sound like feet shuffling over the floor.

Ah, please, no, came through again, then silence.

Shifting restlessly in the chair, he waited for a few more minutes, then started to get up and leave when the door opened and a large Hispanic man entered the room, leaving the door open. Taller than most, he had tats covering his massive arms and part of his face. A sleeveless black T-shirt fell over pants that were several sizes too big and had enough pockets to carry anything imaginable, and they were dirty.

You the Adams guy I talked to? he asked.

Yeah, I guess?

You guess?

Maybe I’m at the wrong place, he wimped out, realizing this might be a mistake.

The man walked over, turned him around, frisked him rudely, and then backed away.

Your call. You said you would do anything. Too bad, he said, then turned to leave.

Wait, I…right… I can help you guys, he said arrogantly. I owe big time and need to square it or else, he added.

The big man smiled and said something in Spanish to someone inside the other room. A voice started laughing, then it was quiet.

Bring him in, Tat man, the voice ordered.

The Tat man reached for him, grabbed his arm, and walked him into the room shutting the door behind them.

The room was totally different from the so-called lobby. Beautiful tile, with area rugs, paintings, statues on pedestals, subdued lighting, and several loungers were located around the large room. In one lounger a young man was laying very still with his eyes closed. The main focus of the room was the large desk directly in front of him. A man in a tan dress shirt, with no tie, sat behind it, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. His hair was dark and slicked down with heavy eyebrows to match. This was the Carlos guy he’d been told about. Bad dude was the rumor.

So you’re Adams. What did you find out?

His mind fogged immediately as he knew this was a mistake. He looked again at the man lying on the lounger.

Is he sleeping or something? he asked the man.

No.

Then what is—

I thought you wanted to make some money, Adams, or are you just plain stupid for coming here? What did you find out? the man