Brush Creek Charlie by D. B. Reynolds (best free e book reader .TXT) 📕

/> “I will, no question about it. Also, I’d like to pay this Derrick Thomas fella a visit. He might be resourceful in helping us move in on Charlie.”
“His hours at the IRS are usually from eight a.m. to five p.m.”
“Leave your schedule open for the rest of the week.”
“Can I give you my card?”
“Please do.”
Sandy scrambled around inside her pockets for her business card. She handed Overstreet the card with pride. She just happened to look out the wide tinted windows of the Japanese restaurant and got hit with yet another surprise. Standing on the side of the historical Midland Theatre building, was the exact maniac she’d spotted almost an hour ago on the side of the police headquarters.
This time, he wore a gray maxi wool coat with a New York Yankees baseball cap. Not again! Could she have been on the verge of losing her mind? How could this be happening again within an hour’s time? Was the psycho brave enough to be seen in plain view, knowing Sandy was in the company of a seasoned homicide detective? Thoughts spinned a hundred miles an hour through her mind.
“Lieutenant, I believe he’s standing over there by The Midland,” Sandy pointed, a reflection of her finger casted upon the mirror window.
“Who Sandy?” Overstreet asked, bobbing his head in every direction.
“Charlie, Lieutenant, Charlie!” she shouted, pointing more specifically out at the subject.
“The guy in the maxi wool coat with the Yankees cap on?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, yes!”
“Are you sure that’s him?”
“That face is far too unforgettable.”
“He’s quite mobile.”
Overstreet and Sandy jumped out of their seats. They snatched their coats off the back of the chairs and ran out of the restaurant. Both pursued the subject at high speed. The stranger ran a half-block west and took off into a dark alley. Overstreet snatched his service revolver out of the holster and hoped for a target to aim for. A homeless man with a long white beard and crusty clothing sat on the ground next to a dumpster. Their person of interest vanished into thin air, just like Sandy explained to Overstreet.
“Did you see anyone run through this alley?” Overstreet asked the homeless man, having frightened him with his weapon drawn.
“No sir,” he replied, sliding a half-full whiskey bottle back into his coat pocket.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Sir, I’m not lying.”
“Thick wool coat, Yankees ball cap, about five-ten or five-eleven. Did you see someone who might fit that description?”
“Sir, for the last time, I didn’t see no one run through here.”
Overstreet flipped open the lid to the dumpster. Nothing but smelly trash was stacked to the top. Large rats crawled around inside the dumpster in search of their next meal. Overstreet dropped the lid and looked further up the alley. He and Sandy stepped across the street into an adjoining alley. This alleyway happened to be free of dumpsters and scattered trash. The stench from human body waste had Overstreet and Sandy stacking both hands over their noses.
“Where in the fricking fracking hell did he go?” Overstreet wondered, the stench penetrating his nose.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant, but he’s one shrewd, clever sonofabitch,” Sandy attested, trying hard not to inhale the fumes of raw urine.
“This odor is about to make me sick.”
“They don’t call it ‘piss alley’ for nothing. These downtown alleys are like open restrooms for all the homeless people down here.”
“He’s got to be around here somewhere.”
“He’s playing games.”
“My time’s too valuable for any goddamned games. It makes no sense at all how he makes a quick clean getaway.”
“Do you believe me now, Lieutenant?”
“Oh, for sure, Sandy. Wish we could show up at this shitbag’s apartment tonight.”
“Our time will come, Lieutenant. Believe me, it’ll come real soon.”
“It irks the living hell out of me that he got away.”
“Can’t dwell on it now. He’s done the same thing to me on several occasions.”
“Hey, we forgot to pay the people back at the Japanese steakhouse.”
“We sure did.”
“Let’s do our civic duty and pay them what we owe.”
“Sounds like the right thing to do.”
Walking out of the alley, Overstreet mumbled obscenities of how the assailant got away. Sandy mumbled some obscenities of her own. How did the slickster get away? Back in the first alley, the lid to the dumpster checked by Overstreet and Sandy rose to a low level. Charlie had emerged from the deep pile of trash. He brushed off sticky trash and food particles. A large rat crawled over his shoulder and jumped to the ground. Overstreet and Sandy never knew how Charlie had been trained in Vietnam to hide in the most unsuspecting places. Camouflaging himself by any means was a part of his ability to travel through jungles and not be detected by the enemy. The sobering homeless man couldn’t believe his eyes. Charlie had jumped inside the dumpster and covered himself with the trash so fast, until he never even knew he’d come into the alley. Combat training sure had its benefits.
“Say buddy, some guy and lady came through here looking for you,” the homeless man tipped off Charlie, still intoxicated to the point of not utilizing his full faculties.
With a mischevious smile, Charlie said to him, “Yeah, I knew they’d come looking for me.”
“I told them that I hadn’t seen you.”
“Appreciate that, buddy.”
“You’re welcome.”
Charlie brushed himself off and walked cautionary down the alley. He knew his days were numbered as far as Overstreet and Sandy and others scoring a victory against him.


CHAPTER—47

The volume to the twenty-inch television inside the now cluttered apartment of Charlie played at levels high enough to disturb his neighbors. Tenants of The Rosenburg made several complaints about how Charlie blatantly ignored their respect to privacy. Some threatened to burst down his door and just beat the holy hell out of him. News Channel Seven decided to air a special segment on their program. Their efforts were concentrated on helping the police catch the Brush Creek killer.
The Gillham Park killer had been apprehended and was yet to be dealt with by Overstreet and his dedicated team of detectives. The black community were relieved to know how a brutal murderer was finally brought to justice. Charlie moved closer to the television since his vision was giving him problems. Stephanie Harrison, a veteran reporter who’d been dubbed the sex symbol of journalism, turned to flash her face and microphone before thousands of television sets throughout the city.
“In the first five minutes of News Channel Seven,” Stephanie talked clearly before the cameras. “Many are gathered here in Brush Creek to mourn the deaths of four women, all of them found within eight months. Tonight, a prayer vigil takes place with gutwrenching statements from the relatives of the victims.”
Charlie stared meticulously at the television set. The shakiness and sweating and racing heart paid him a visit. To watch the crowds of people posting flyers of the crime tips hotline numbers, and digitalized photos of the victims onto trees and light posts, sent him into the most turbulent stir of his life. The diligence to help catch the killer was a deep wound to his pride.
“Family and friends gather here at Brush Creek Boulevard and Swope Parkway to pay tribute to the four victims who were brutally murdered,” Stephanie continued, frost blowing across her face. “Many in the grief-stricken community are still numb from the heartbreaking news.”
Stephanie turned her attention to the father of Amy Alex, Arthur Alex, who’d come in from Chicago after receiving the news that his daughter had been murdered and mutilated. “Arthur, thank you for joining everyone here at Brush Creek. What are your thoughts on the death of your daughter and the other three women?”
“I can only speak for my daughter,” Arthur discreetly sobbed. “She could walk into a room full of strangers and walk out with a bunch of friends. Her excitement and passion for life was unmatched.”
“What type of outcome are you hoping for?”
“That this heartless animal is caught and served the type of justice he deserves.”
Charlie’s rage had detonated to an uncompromisable level.
Like a weapon being thrown at a bitter enemy, he slung the remote at the television, breaking it into several pieces.
“Heartless animal, huh?” Charlie rattled, squeezing both fists. “You motherfuckers haven’t seen a heartless animal, yet. In Vietnam, I ate and slept with, I fought and ran with, and I even killed all the heartless animals over there. War has no beginning, and it has no ending! I am the one who began this thing, and I will be the one who ends it.”
Charlie converged back to silence. He wanted to hear what the rest of the newscast had to say.
“Have you provided police with information that might be helpful?”
“Only a brief description of my daughter’s character, her friends, and her stay here in Kansas City.”
“You have every right to be overwhelmed with emotion. Could you please tell News Channel Seven your feelings about the nature in which your daughter’s body was found?”
Quite a hard question to answer, Arthur conjured up enough bravery to assemble his words. He smashed tears across his frosted cheeks. “No child or nobody should be found in the manner in which my daughter was found. To have found my daughter, as well as the other three young women found here in Brush Creek, is a parent’s worse nightmare. To dismember the body of an innocent human being is baseless beyond words.”
“There is a great outpour of support from many people. Your thoughts on this.”
“These are very difficult times for myself and my family and the other victim’s families. The prayer vigil and the posting of flyers is proof that there is