Brush Creek Charlie by D. B. Reynolds (which ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: D. B. Reynolds
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âConsidering that black men are truly âass menâ, youâre telling the sho nuff truth.â
âYour ass is the bait that hooks them in.â
âJust like kryptonite makes Superman weak, a nice juicy ass weakens brothers.â
âAnd a few white men, too,â Derrick added, careful not to offend his longtime lover.
âOf course, thereâre white men who can appreciate a woman with a nice ass.â
Derrick and Kathy talked explicitly before other IRS employees came to the conference room.
A strong comfort level existed between them.
Neither wanted to hurt the otherâs feelings. Mitchell reached across the table for a fresh newspaper at the request of Derrick.
âHey, Kathy, take a look at todayâs paper,â Derrick said while capturing Kathyâs attention.
Kathy unfolded the paper. âYikes! Thatâs whatâcha call a ânightmare-of-a-face.â
Ironically, yet coincidentally, others who saw the face in person or in the newspaper, used the exact same expression.
âYuckie is what I said, Kathy,â Derrick reiterated. âA face like that belongs on a monster from a creature-feature movie.â
How surprising it was for the same face printed up in the newspaper to belong to a mentally-disturbed, shell-shocked Vietnam Veteran who lived one flight up from Derrick and Mitchell? The caption across the front page read: KCPD MAY HAVE SPOTTED SUSPECT IN BRUSH CREEK KILLINGS.
Mitchell flashed before Derrick a newspaper edition from the prior day. âHereâs another copy from yesterday talking about the bastard who mightâve chopped up and dumped Lisa down in Brush Creek.â
Kathy expeditiously read one line after another until she came to the bottom of the page. âSays that the cops and detectives might be closer to capturing the suspect in the Brush Creek killings. And to think, Lisa Wallace was one of those women.â
Being the sensitive creature heâd grown into, Mitchell smashed light tears from the corner of both eyes. âLisa had to be one of the sweetest women ever put on this Earth.â
Derrick cried a few tears of his own. âI just donât get it, sheâd never hurt a flea, not to mention how sheâd reach out to help anybody.â
âSheâs gone on to a much better place.â
Kathy moved her eyes to the middle of the page. âSays here that the cops got into a scuffle with this maniac. Says that he killed their canine and got away through one of the tunnels down in Brush Creek.â
Derrick had some investigative thoughts of his own. Afterall, he and Mitchell did have a neighbor whose faceâd been beaten up by life itself. The loving men did live below a man who worshipped the engineering marvel known as Brush Creek.
âIf someone could get away with all of that, then theyâve got crazy skills.â
Kathy had some opinions of her own. âIf youâre a native Kansas Citian, then youâd know something about Brush Creek. Those tunnels are filled with great big sewer rats, the kind of rats that would love to have anything for dinner. I wonder if he made it through that tunnel alive?â
âGood question, Kathy,â Derrick said in his analytical voice. âIf he did make it, Iâll betcha he got bit by a thousand rats.â
âEnough rabies to carry around for the next one-hundred years.â
Derrick dangled his hand on the side of Kathyâs leg. âYou talked about the ânightmare-of-faceâ earlier. The craziest idea ever just popped up inside my head.â
âWhat idea?â
âThereâs a guy who lives on the floor above Mitchell and I. This guy has a scarred and pitted face like youâve never seen before.â
âYou said that to say what, Derrick?â
Derrick sort of mumbled the answer. âCould there be a chance that heâs the suspect theyâre looking for?â
âCâmon Derrick,â Kathy dejected. âHow many guys do you know in this city with scarred and pitted faces? You canât just go on someone with really bad skin.â
âKnow what else?â
âWhat?â
âInside this guyâs apartment, heâs got lots of framed posters and pictures of Brush Creek everywhere. Every inch of his walls are covered with something about Brush Creek.â
âHave you turned into Mr. Inspector-Detective on me?â
âNot at all, sweetheart. Nowadays, you can never tell. Remember the big flood down in Brush Creek back in 1977?â
âSure, my mom and grandma talk about it all the time. I was only a little girl back then, but my relatives talk about it enough to make me feel as though I lived through it.â
âThis guy that Iâm telling you about, heâs about as weird as they come. He keeps all kinds of crazy hours, not to mention that he makes all kinds of crazy noises upstairs. Mitchell and I had to go up there a few times to make him quiet down.â
âAre you saying that he might be the Brush Creek Killer?â
âIâm not saying that at all,â Derrick reversed. âBut this guy gives me the creeps everytime heâs in my presence.â
âIs it the nightmare-of-a-face?â
âThe face is most of it.â
âWhatâs this guyâs name?â
âCharles Rastelli, but people call him Charlie.â
âThe name doesnât register.â
âThe face probably wouldnât register, either.â
Derrick and and Kathy knew time at the IRS crept upon you like patches of thick fog. The duo concentrated their efforts on preparing the dinner and prayer vigil for Lisa Wallace.
CHAPTERâ31
Fresh white tablecloths were spread across the long tables inside the main IRS conference room. Employees from every department brought more pans of meats and casseroles and pots of soups. Tables set aside for soda and deserts were lined against the east wall. Balloons and glitter paper and banners bearing the name of âLisa Wallaceâ stretched across the room. Employees came out in full force. From NTEU to data conversion to customer service, they came. From quality control to code and editing to extracting, they came.
From machine services to batching to exams, they came out, to pay homage to a dedicated IRS veteran who brought pride to the government agency. For the prayer vigil, white candles were brought in small boxes. Within minutes, the atmosphere shifted to standing room only. People stood shoulder-to-shoulder. If someone farted, everyone wouldâve gotten a whiff of their sour insides. A long white cake was rolled inside and placed on the table in the middle of the room. The most recent photo of Lisa graced the center of the cake.
A woman who many IRS employees considered God himself, Dr. Barbara Bonnet, the same woman who ran the entire Kansas City Processing Service Center, made her entry up towards the stage. Dr. Bonnet was one of those conservative country girls, born and bred most of her life deep in the state of Texas, a proud graduate of Texas Southern University. Some sun and twenty pounds added to her cardboard figure wouldâve done her grand. Maybe a fresh hairdo and a pair of stylish glasses wouldâve brought her into modern times. A group of men and women from IRS service centers in Washington, D.C., Atlanta, Andover, Austin and Cincinnati flanked Dr. Bonnet up on stage.
Dr. Bonnet moved the microphone up to her thin red lips. âGood afternoon to all the IRS employees from here at the Kansas City Processing Service Center.â
A sea of inquisitive faces responded with their positive salutations.
Dr. Bonnet cleared a dry pocket from her throat. âIt gives me great pleasure to see how all of you have come out to pay homage to our favorite daughter, Miss Lisa Wallace.â
The dedicated workers broke out into a mild applause.
âLet me begin by saying this,â Dr. Bonnet continued. âHere at the IRS, we are a community. We are like a family, a family whoâs there for one another in the time of need. Lisa Wallace was a true family member of ourâs. She remains our favorite IRS daughter, and it would be a crime against humanity to not honor her memory.â
Once again, the IRS employees responded with a civil applause.
âLisa built a legacy here at the Internal Revenue Service,â Dr. Bonnet praised, then gulping down a swallow of water. âItâs been said that a person doesnât leave a legacy behind by doing something to help themselves, but a person leaves a legacy behind when they do something to help others. Lisa Wallace left a legacy because she helped others.â
Derrick and Kathy stood towards the back of the room staring at Dr. Bonnet with eyes of disbelief. It wasnât necessarily her oratorical skills which captivated them, but how her own personal legacy wasnât admired by many at the IRS.
âHow dare that tramp talk about leaving a legacy,â Derrick whispered into Kathyâs ear. âIsnât she the same racist whore who had a small Confederate Flag in the back of her car window? Her only legacy is being a closet racist.â
âHaving that flag in her back windshield was only a rumor,â Kathy repressed, whispering back into Derrickâs ear.
âA rumor confirmed by both black and white people here at the IRS,â Derrick added, his feminine side growing more sensitive.
âWhat you expect, Derrick, sheâs from Texas.â
âA bigoted bitch from Texas.â
âI thought we were here to pay our respects to Lisa Wallace.â
âWe are, but that pale bitch up at that podium is a phony-racist-whore. Like we said earlier, Lisa was a real sweetheart who wouldnât hurt a flea. Lisa didnât have a prejudice bone in her body, let alone in her heart and mind.â
âThen, letâs pay the tribute to her that she deserves. Letâs put all of our differences aside and listen to what Dr. Bonnet has to say.â
Derrick twitched his nose upwards. âLook at all those young black women being killed and dumped along Gillham Park.â
âAnother body was found a coupleâa days ago.â
âMy point
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