Brush Creek Charlie by D. B. Reynolds (which ebook reader .txt) 📖

1965 to 1970 to kill concealing trees and shrubs.”
“I see you’re well-versed on Vietnam.”
“Didn’t serve there, but worked with many veterans who did.”
“What else can you tell us about the DNA in the blood?”
Dr. Purvis slid out a more sophisticated microscopic photocopy of a DNA sample. “Agent Orange is a mixture of the N-Butyl esters of 2,4-dichlorophenoxya acetic acid 2,4-D and 2,4,5-trichlorophenoxyacetic acid 2,4,5-T. These are the main chemical components found in the sample that you’re looking at.”
Overstreet tossed Dr. Purvis a polite grin. “In other words, our perp has Agent Orange in his blood.”
“Correct, detective.”
“So, it’s a strong possibility that the sicko we’re looking for is a Vietnam veteran?”
“Very strong possibility.”
“Something led me to believe that all along.”
“But it doesn’t stop there, detectives.”
“Whaddaya mean, doc?”
Dr. Purvis produced more forensic information to back up his conclusions. “Pieces of skin were removed from the teeth of the canine that was killed by the perp.”
Carey shook his head and said, “Yeah, doc, our canine took some bites out of this guy before he snapped his neck. Sorta like the commercial on television. Take a bite out of crime.”
“Our perp suffers from a severe condition known as Chloracne.”
Carey gave Overstreet a grave stare of confusion. “Neither one of us are familiar with such a condition.”
Dr. Purvis explained in refined details. “Chloracne is a skin condition marked by large blackheads and pimples in people who are in contact with chemical compounds such as cutting oils, paints, varnishes, and dioxin. This condition usually affects the face, arms, neck and any other exposed areas. It’s highly likely that the guy you’re going after has Chloracne from the dioxin in the Agent Orange.”
“I’ll tell ya what, doc,” Overstreet concurred. “One of our officers who’d been attacked by this psycho, said that he had a ‘nightmare-of-a-face’, like he’d been all scarred up from having real bad acne.”
“We don’t want the media getting wind of our full investigations,” Carey added. “Some of the things we learn through you guys must be kept confidential until everybody’s ready to make a sure move.”
Overstreet continued with his findings. “Also, I’ve spoken with Dr. McKinnis about both of our vics that were found mutilated down in Brush Creek. Dr. McKinnis is like yourself, he’s one of the best in all the business. After he showed me how those two women were mutilated and stuffed in trashbags, and then dumped down into Brush Creek, I knew this scumbag was a professional killer. We both determined that he operated both covertly and clandestinely, just like those highly-skilled military men do. He avoided being shot, ambushed a pair of officers, and then crawled his way through one of the tunnels.”
Carey interjected by saying, “Dr. Purvis, this animal knows how to put his military training into action.”
“Dr. McKinnis explained to me how our perp used a Full Tang Monster Machete to dismember both bodies. This is the same type of machete that was used to chop the tall vegetation through the jungles of Vietnam. There’s definitely a link between your findings and the findings of Dr. McKinnis.”
“Which is, this guy is a Vietnam War veteran.”
“There’s a nine-hundred and ninety-nine chance out of one-thousand that he served time in Vietnam.”
“Jerry, sounds like we’re narrowing things down. Question stands, does the easy work end and the hard work begins?”
“A little bit of both, Cork.”
“Our suspect is still around town somewhere.”
Overstreet reached into his thought bank and made a withdrawal. “But how do we narrow it down? How many Vietnam Veterans do we have in K.C.? How many of those veterans are actually carrying Agent Orange around? How many guys in our city have this ‘nightmare-of-a-face’ that Officer Richie Dolan spoke of? Who’d have in their possession this Full Tang Monster Machete that Dr. McKinnis described?”
Carey now had some questions of his own. “Doc, is it a possibility that our suspect is sick and dying?”
“It’s very possible.”
“Explain to me how it’s possible.”
“Well, Agent Orange can create many diseases throughout the body.”
“For instance?”
“Gastrointestinal tumors, which can lead to stomach, colon, rectal, and pancreatic cancers, brain tumors, circulatory, respiratory and immune disorders, motor and coordination dysfunction, and neuropsychiatric problems.”
“Psychiatric problems, too?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Purvis contested. “The illusions and hallucinations and flashback episodes of the war causes these guys to just lose it and do weird and crazy things.”
“Like commit murder?”
“No question.”
“Even mutilation?”
“Quite possible.”
Carey propped his hand across Overstreet’s shoulder. “Jerry, we’ve got more than our work cut out for us.”
“What would it take to make this guy slip up?”
“We’ve already posted up one of our best officers down there in Brush Creek.”
“We’re dealing with a pro and a maniac at the same time.”
“A pro and a maniac who’s probably working on his next victim.”
“Question is, will we get to him before the Agent Orange does?”
“That shit has probably been eating up his insides for quite some time.”
“And the insides of a lot of other Vietnam veterans.”
Overstreet tapped Dr. Purvis on the shoulder. “Doc, approximately how much time does our perp have to live?”
“Impossible to determine, detective.”
“None, doc?”
“Well, depends on the severity of the symptoms.”
“For example.”
Dr. Purvis presented Overstreet with simple medical terminology. “If this subject suffers from severe circulatory or respiratory disorders, he could well be on his way out. If he’s suffering from some form of cancer, it could be a matter of weeks or months.”
“Carey and I are at the crossroads with catching this guy.”
“We’ve been outsmarted by someone who’s not done killing.”
The detective’s work of Carey and Overstreet was being put to the test. Big holes were punctured in their egos since the psychopath they’d been after was many steps ahead of them.


CHAPTER—30

Charlie had little knowledge about his neighbors Derrick and Mitchell being full-time employees with the Internal Revenue Service. The interracial gay couple actually held upper positions with the IRS. They also held one of the IRS’ murdered employees in high regards. A prayer vigil and dinner for Lisa Wallace had been scheduled for one o’clock in the main conference room. Pans of meats and pots of soups poured into the decorated room along with glass bowls of beverages and a host of delectable deserts.
Mitchell called the shots up in the customer service division while Derrick exercised his power with civility inside the data conversion and cashiers departments. Both gay men had gained the respect of most IRS employees. Derrick knew how to use his mouthpiece to gain the confidence of other employees from one end of the building to the other. Mitchell, on the other hand, sort of kept a low profile, but broke out of his shy mode whenever in the company of Derrick.
Mitchell and Derrick filed into the conference room with a woman who’d been born white on the outside, but surely had personality traits of a black woman. She’d been named Kathy Lowell by her mother. With an attractive rear end to match up against any black woman, unfortunately Kathy didn’t have the face to match. Deep red blotches covered every area of both cheeks and across her forehead. The dirty blonde hair didn’t compliment her lopsided head.
Derrick stepped closer and bumped up against her solid arched hips. “Hello Miss Cathy. How are you?”
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Derrick Mitchell,” Kathy smiled, placing a pan of fried chicken at the middle of the table.
Derrick took a quick peek at her large bubble butt. “Well, if it isn’t the white girl with the black girl’s booty. Chile, I’ll tell you the truth, where’d you get a big booty like that?”
“You’ve got to ask my mother about that.”
“Or your daddy.”
“Or the both of them.”
Derrick leaned sideways to take another look. “Are you sure that you don’t have black in you?”
Kathy grunted with a coarse voice. “Honey, let me tell you one thing. I don’t know if I’ve got black in me, but I’ve definitely had black up in me.”
“Ha! Ha!” Derrick laughed. “In other words, you don’t have black blood in you, but you’ve had some black meat up in you. Is that what you’re telling me and Mitchell, Miss Kathy?”
“Yes sir.”
“No, it’s yes mam,” Derrick corrected her, a reminder he was gay.
“Sorry about that, mam.”
“You’re excused this time, ‘miss thing’.”
Kathy rolled her eyes over at Mitchell. “Mitchell, how does it feel to have some black meat up in you?”
Mitchell turned a mild red in the face after a hard snicker. “Uh, I must say that Derrick’s the greatest lover in the world.”
“In other words, ain’t nothing like some big black hard dick. C’mon Mitchell, don’t be ashamed to admit it. Doesn’t matter if you’re black or white, straight or gay, or if you’re young or old, having black dick is like having the keys to a bank vault.”
“Okay, okay, Derrick pleases me like no man or woman could ever do.”
“The pleasure withdrawals that you make on that long black meat is unlike anything in the world.”
In an era of countless interracial unions, especially between black men and white women, Kathy earned her PhD in interracial sexology. She had no shame in broadcasting to other IRS employees how she loved black men from the inside to the outside.
Even as a gay