Manitou Lake

By Jim Black

HORROR COMES IN ALL FORMS

Wichita Falls rookie homicide detective Horace Brown is brand new on the job. His partner, Big Bill Baughman, has been at it for thirty years and seen it all. Until today. What the two of them find inside a lavish home in the exclusive Painted Hills section of town changes everything. Together, they will hunt a killer, the likes of which has never been seen. However, in order to find him, they must first answer the question, “Is the killer human?” In a remote region of the Canadian wilderness, they’ll confront the startling reality. At Manitou Lake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Nov 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977270962

Jim Black

A lifelong Texan, Jim Black was born in Center, Texas, and grew up in Archer City. Today he resides in Wichita Falls with his wife, Lorrie. He is the author of several books and plays.  For more information visit www.jimblackbooks.com. 

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Part One

The Detectives

1

MONDAY 10:44 A.M.

THIRTY-YEAR-OLD ROOKIE DETECTIVE Horace Brown sat looking out his second-story office window at the Wichita Falls Police Department, watching it rain. From the time he was a young boy, he loved rainy days—the darker the day and the harder the rain, the better. He wasn’t sure why. The best he was able to come up with was this: His father had died on a sunny day. Horace was nine at the time, roller skating on the cracked sidewalks a block from his home in Lubbock, Texas, when the patrol car pulled up in front of his house. He remembers sitting down in the cool grass near the curb, removing his skates and waiting for the car to leave. Afterwards, he ran home to find his mother crying on the sofa. His dad was dead—a car accident. Outside the sun blazed. However, the next day the sky grew dark, and the rains came. His mom waited a full day before calling friends and family so the two of them could be alone together. Their world had collapsed and her son needed her more than ever. They spent most of the day on the sofa where she held him, whispered to him and sang to him. She later baked chocolate chip cookies as he listened to the patter of the rain on the roof and watched the gray world outside through their big picture window. He’d never felt closer to his mother, never safer or more loved. Now, years later, he coveted rainy days.

The phone rang.

Homicide. Detective Brown.

There was a pause followed by a sultry voice.

Hello, Detective. Have they given you your bullet yet?

Oh, I’ve got plenty of bullets, ma’am, don’t you worry.

That so? Well, I feel safer already. Been assigned any big cases yet or just sitting there polishing your badge?

Still arranging my office, if you can call it that, and my badge is gonna wear plumb away if I polish it anymore.

Doesn’t sound to me like us taxpayers are getting our money’s worth.

Listen, lady. For what they pay me, I’m the biggest bang for the taxpayers’ buck. Just ask my wife.

Oh. Married are you?

Yep. A long-legged southern redhead with the greenest eyes on the planet.

And?

Well, as us homicide detectives are fond of saying, ‘a body to kill for’.

Sounds like a lot of women I know.

They don’t have a birthmark that looks like Abraham Lincoln.

Abe Lincoln or Snoop Dogg?

Either. Both.

That’s funny. I have one just like that.

That so?

Yeah. Right down here below my—

Horse! Let’s go! Time for lunch.

Startled, Horace lowered the receiver.

Uh, I brought mine, sir.

Did I ask about your sorry lunch? With that, the big man turned and left.

Gotta, go, honey. Bill’s taking me to lunch.

"Did he call you Horse?"

I’m not sure. Maybe.

What do you call him?

Partner.

Partner? Not Bill? Or Big Bill? Or God’s Gift to Homicide?

Easy, baby. I’m just getting to know him, remember? And I really need to go.

Just kidding. See you tonight.

It’s a date.

The greenhorn detective grabbed his jacket and hustled down the stairs out to the lot where his partner was waiting in an old Crown Victoria, engine running. He climbed in.

That your wife on the phone?

Yes it was.

She good-lookin’?

Gorgeous.

Bill Baughman slapped the car in gear and pulled away. So what’d you have in that piddly lunch sack of yours?

Leftover Subway sandwich—turkey and ham. Baked Lays. And some grapes, I think.

That your idea or your wife’s?

Both, actually. We’re trying to watch what we eat.

Well, if she’d care to join us, she can watch us eat a large Beanie Burger at Stanley’s. With fries and cobbler.

The rookie smiled. Maybe some other day, Partner.

Bill looked over without smiling. Whatever you say, Horse.

2

MONDAY 11:00 A.M.

WICHITA FALLS, TEXAS, sits just over a hundred twenty miles northwest of Dallas, ten miles from the Red River and Oklahoma border. Interestingly, the city’s population never changes. For the past sixty-five years it has been approximately one hundred thousand. Whether this is because few ever leave and few come, or because people exit in droves only to be replaced by an equal proportion of newcomers is not clear. It is home to three high schools, Midwestern State University, Sheppard Air Force Base, a handful of manufacturing plants, one mall and the usual percentage of doctors, lawyers, dentists and veterinarians. Nearby lakes Wichita, Kickapoo and Arrowhead provide good fishing and water sports of all kinds. A very popular twenty-six mile hike and bike trail circles the town. Other entertainment comes in the form of two golf courses, one bowling alley, two movie theaters, a water park and the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame.

Every August, cycling enthusiasts from across the nation flock to Wichita Falls to participate in the Hotter’N Hell Hundred bicycle race. The race and surrounding events are a boom for vendors and the local economy. It is one of the largest bicycle races in the nation, attracting well over ten thousand registered riders.

For a town its size, Wichita (as it’s called by the locals) sports an unusually high number of eating establishments. One can enjoy burgers, pizza, or Tex-Mex on nearly every street corner it seems. And then there are the hole-in-the-wall places locals flock to and visitors search out. At the top of that list is Stanley’s BBQ, a small non-descript abode, hidden a block west of main drag Kemp Blvd. At precisely eleven o’clock, Bill wheeled his Crown Vic into an already packed parking lot. As Horace climbed out in the pouring rain with his umbrella, Bill was already headed for the door, without one. Horace followed him inside to a table in the rear, sat down, and watched as Bill grabbed some napkins and wiped the rain from his thick neck and forehead.

You better get up there and get your order in. We don’t have all day.

Horace rose to do so while Bill remained seated.

You coming?

They know what I want.

Horace did as Bill instructed and returned to their table just as a cute brunette, wearing tight faded jeans and a bright pink Stanley’s T-shirt, arrived with a tray. From it, she removed a large Beanie Burger, fries, peach cobbler, and coffee. She set them in front of Bill and smiled. Here you go, Detective.

Thanks, Darlin’.

Horace watched her leave and looked over at Bill. You must come here pretty often.

Every Monday for the past twenty-five years.

"Every Monday?"

I stutter? Bill raised the sandwich to his mouth. Beef, chili, cheese, re-fried beans, Fritos, onions and jalapenos—the Food of the Gods. And with that, he dug in.

Horace remembered his wife’s comment about Bill being God’s gift to homicide and tried to suppress a smile. He wasn’t completely successful.

Somethin’ funny about that?

No. Just thinking my plan to start eating better might be in trouble.

Yeah, you won’t find that guy from the Subway commercials eatin’ here.

Horace smiled and leaned back as the waitress returned and set his order in front of him. Bill shook his head.

Small Beanie Burgers are for women. And kids. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?

Till now, it appears, she said with a grin.

Yeah, well . … Horace said, trying to suppress a blush.

Bill frowned. And no cobbler? You don’t know what you’re missin’.

Maybe next time.

You fellas need anything else?

No. Oh, and this here’s my new partner—Horse.

Hello, Horse. I’m Sally. First time here, I take it?

Yep. Horse is from Austin. And don’t you go gettin’ any ideas, sweetie. He’s married.

She was disappointed but didn’t show it. Horace had the kind of boyish good looks girls go for. In her view, he could pass for Ben Affleck, if he were taller. The big city of Austin, huh? she asked.

Actually, the small town of Dripping Springs just south of Austin.

Guess you’ll be a regular on Mondays?

Yes he will, Bill said, smiling. And you might as well put all this on my tab. Rookie detectives don’t make that much if I recall.

Will do. Holler if y’all need anything. And she left.

Well, heck. If I’d known you were paying, I would’ve gotten a large. Next time I will.

"Next time, you’re buyin’."

Horace laughed, but Bill didn’t. Still, Horace felt a minor bridge had been forged. His guess was Big Bill Baughman didn’t often buy anyone’s lunch. He couldn’t wait to tell the woman who’d phoned earlier. And he’d do just that tonight over a lean pork chop and steamed vegetables.

3

MONDAY 11:35 A.M.

WHEN LUNCH WAS over, the two headed for the car. The rain had lightened considerably. It was eighty degrees, headed to a high of ninety-five. Typical of July in north Texas.

Want me to drive? Horace asked as they approached the car.

When I want you to chauffeur me around, I’ll tell you. Bill unlocked the driver’s door with a key. (Keyless entry was for listless types, certainly not full-blown detectives—even if most of his co-workers used them.) Once in, he reached over and unlocked the passenger door. He was sure the new kid was going to ask him about it, but he didn’t, and Bill took some comfort in that. It usually took him a month or so to get a good handle on new partners. Not this time. He already had a feeling about the young Mr. Brown. Maybe the department had finally done him right. About dang time they did. He looked over at his new partner.

Somethin’ wrong?

No computer?

You see a computer? I know this town like the back of my hand. I don’t need a little ball on a screen tellin’ me what road to take.

They do more than that.

"That’s what I have you for."

I’m more expensive than a computer.

Department’s problem, not mine. When someone comes up with a computer that can buy my lunch and laugh at my jokes, I’ll look into gettin’ another one. But for now, the one on my desk is plenty. Comprende?

Ten-four. Horace smiled and put on his shades as Bill started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

Those Oakleys? Bill asked.

Not hardly, Horace said, grinning. These are Foster Grants. What kind do you wear?

Don’t know the brand. I got ‘em for five bucks at Allsup’s. And, as you can see, I’m not wearin’ ‘em. It happens to be cloudy.

I know. I just wear mine to look cool. Horace smiled and looked at his partner hoping to finally see one. He didn’t. But he did get a nod.

"Makin’ detective at thirty’s pretty good. That don’t happen often. You got an uncle on the force or city