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Freeman's Front Porch Musings

  • Bending toward the sun…unedited…

    May 25th, 2022

    I drove us back to the parking garage and killed my truck. Ashley leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. I grinned like an idiot, but dang if it didn’t feel good. 

    “I’ll see you later, Thermopolis,” Ashley said as she climbed out of my truck. “Take care of yourself, and thanks for lunch.”

    “Anytime.”

    I watched as Ashley sashayed away, then drove to my home on the outskirts of Fredericksburg. After I showered and washed the day’s grime off of my body, I stretched out on the couch. I turned on cartoons and closed my eyes. 

    A deep sleep fell over me, but I dreamt of monsters. Some raced naked through the streets, others died strapped to five-gallon buckets and holes shot through their heads. As one lied dying it muttered, “who does such a thing?”

    I woke up in the dark of my living room and listened. From outside of my trailer, I heard someone yelling my name. 

    “Thermopolis, get up! There’s been another murder.”

    “And?”

    “What do you mean? You’re expected at the crime scene,” Rama shouted. 

    For not the first time, I considered walking away from my career in law enforcement. Where we once were all equal under the law, now, the law didn’t touch those who committed the most egregious crimes, so long as they had enough money to purchase their freedom.

    Jail sentences and other penalties only applied to the lower caste, even if the rich or celebrated got caught with their hands in the cookie jar, the worst they’d suffer was a fine or a slap on the wrist.

    It was enough to make a man sick. 

    The pollution of the justice system had corrupted every aspect of it. Even the highest institutions of the land had been tainted by the demoralization of the system and its caretakers.

    “I don’t care, Rama. Go on without me. Text the directions to me.”

    “I’m here now, Konan. Why are you being difficult?”

    I opened my door and gave him a forced smile. He stepped back and glared at me. 

    “Because I don’t trust you, Rama. See you at the crime scene,” I said as I shut the door. 

  • Janie Temple…Rough Love…new writing, unedited…

    May 25th, 2022

    Janie took Walter to a local convenience store and bought the largest coffee they offered. Walter sipped it and rubbed his forehead.

    “Ugh.”

    He looked around the parking lot. Janie waited for him to say something, but all he did was groan.

    “Didn’t they have something to eat?”

    “There’s a whole store filled with food right there,” Janie snapped. 

    Walter grimaced and rubbed his head again. 

    “Why are you mad? I’m the one with a headache.”

    “How about because you didn’t even try to stick around. You handed in your badge and walked away. Then, you went and got drunk. Now, I’m stuck babysitting you until you sober up.”

    “I was fired, Janie.”

    “You could have fought back against the sheriff. He was wrong.”

    “You don’t understand. You’re not from here.”

    “Oh. I’m the clueless girl. Misogynistic much?”

    “Ah, forget it.”

    “Why? You’re the one that implied it.”

    “I wasn’t saying you couldn’t understand what I was saying. Before you go all militant feminist, let me explain something to you.”

    “Fine. Lay it on me,” Janie snapped, as she crossed her arms and looked out the driver side window.

    “I grew up here. People around here are in debt to Roy Darnell Carver. He is this town, and worse of all, he knows it. For God’s sake, your own boss confessed to corruption.”

    Janice sighed and shook her head. She didn’t feel like hearing this, and she didn’t appreciate Walter playing the ‘you’re not from here’ card.

    “Furthermore, I’ve watched as Roy Darnell Carver has committed horrendous actions against the people who went against him. He doesn’t stop with the person who offended him, he goes after the entire family.”

    “So, why investigate the crime, right?”

    “If I’m not mistaken, this new temporary chief hired me. I was a little drunk at the time, but I seem to remember him saying to get me sober and that I’m a member of the Angie Police Department.”

    “Are you ready to go see what we can find?”

    “Sure. It’s late though. Why don’t you take me home, and we get started in the morning?”

    Janie glared at Walter but started the car. He gave her directions and soon she pulled up in front of a small cabin. She stopped short of a large porch. Cedar furniture sat under a tin roof.

    “This is your house?”

    “It is. I’ve lived here for six years.”

    “Wow. It’s nice. Do you have land as well?”

    “Yeah.”

    She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to quell her curiosity.

    “I have twenty acres of hilly country. It’s not worth much given the roughness of the terrain.”

    “Still. Twenty acres and a cabin. That’s a pretty good deal.”

    “Yeah, it is. Thanks for the lift. Um…”

    “What?”

    “I’m sorry if I disappointed you. I don’t normally handle my problems by escaping into a bottle.”

    “Yeah. I’ll pick you up in the morning. We need to get started early, so I will be here at 0730.”

    “Okay. See you then.”

  • Faithless…new writing…unedited…

    May 25th, 2022

    The bomb squad parked on the asphalt and suited up. Lilly stood on the porch and waited for them to disengage the jerry-rigged shotgun. From the second floor of a ramshackle barn down the road, Jackson Titus watched the going ons. The long shadows cast by the ceiling hid him, as well did the rotten hay bales and a straw-colored tarp.
    He dropped the crosshair of his scope upon the chest of Konan and flicked off the safety of his rifle. A cold smile crossed his face as his finger caressed the trigger.
    “It would be so simple to kill him now,” Titus muttered.
    Jackson Titus flicked the safety back on and withdrew from his sniping nest. There would be time enough to kill him later. For now, he needed to evade the authorities and complete his task.
    After disengaging the booby-trapped door, the bomb technicians cleared the house. It was slow going, but they managed to clear the house with zero casualties. One walked out on the back porch and whistled. My leg had begun to ache, and my foot felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.
    “I wouldn’t drop that foot, boss man.”
    “Oh yeah,” I growled at the tech. “You wanna take my spot for a while?”
    “No thanks,” she responded.
    “How much longer before I can get up from my knees?”
    She gave me a smile and walked to the edge of the porch. A giggle escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hand. My leg seemed to grow heavier with every passing second.
    “Um, you can put your foot down.”
    “What?”
    “There’s nothing behind you. Put it down.”
    As I eased my foot down, I closed my eyes. Whatever happened, I wanted to be oblivious to it. The technician watched me, and when nothing happened, I let out a heavy sigh. I could hear her giggling.
    “You can unclench your sphincter now,” she said laughing.
    It took several hours for the bomb squad to clear the back yard. After I took several minutes to compose myself, I went to help Lilly. The forensic team swept the entire house, dusting for prints, gathering evidence. Lilly watched me as I walked in. She gave me a smile and motioned for me to join her in the hallway.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah, Lilly. Considering I almost became red mist, I am fine.”
    “The first victim is Jackson’s father. It looks like he sealed himself in, and someone shot him.”
    “I didn’t notice any broken glass.”
    “Yeah. There is, you missed it because you leaned against it to push the door open.”
    I walked over to the window and looked at it. The window itself was nothing special, but it was broken into squares. There were 16 individual squares, and the last square in the middle row-all the way to the right-was the only one broken.
    “The forensic team thinks he approached from the left. When the old man walked into the room, the killer fired three rounds. One to break the glass, followed by two more rounds that killed him.”
    “Yeah. Stand there where the old man fell. I want to check something.”
    I walked out to the end of the driveway and moved to the left. As I crept up, I held my arms out like I held a weapon. At the porch, I stepped onto it. Lilly saw me, and I stopped. She frowned, her eyebrows furrowed, and she waited for me to say something.
    “He saw him, Lilly.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “How could he not? You looked at me as soon as I stepped onto the porch.”
    “Yeah, but if he did it at night…”
    “When was the old man killed?”
    “Um, hold on,” Lilly said flipping her notebook open. “Ashley called time of death 7.5 hours ago.”
    “It’s 1430. So, he was killed after daybreak.”
    “What are you saying, Konan?”
    “Dad saw his killer. He recognized him, and then the killer shot him. When the techs finish with the backyard we can check the bodies back there, and we will have a complete picture then.”
    “You think Jackson Titus did his whole family in? Is that what you’re thinking?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “That’s a cold bit of business if you think he did that to his own flesh and blood.”
    “Killing is a cold business, Lilly. Bloodlines have nothing to do with it.”
    Even as I said it, I knew it to be false. Sometimes blood had everything to do with it.

  • Faithless…Chapter Four…new writing, unedited…incomplete…

    May 24th, 2022

    The house that belonged to the Titus family sat in the middle of a small community. People had abandoned the community years ago. With the drapes closed, I had no chance of peeking in. A rickety fence blocked off the backyard. Instinct gnawed at my guts. On the left side of the house, a partially collapsed gate led into the backyard.
    Prior to becoming an officer of the law, I spent years as a soldier. That uneasy feeling sent cold shivers up my spine, as if the Grim Reaper ran his hand up and down my spinal cord, chilled every part of my body.
    “Don’t pull in the driveway. Stay here in the car, Lilly, and keep your eyes open.”
    She nodded wordlessly, and I got out. Every sense I had tingled from the pulsing throb of adrenaline. Some scientists had said that nothing could compare to the thrill of combat, which was one reason that many soldiers took their lives when they returned from the war. I didn’t know anything about that, but the overwhelming sense of danger was thrilling in its own right.
    The door had opened, pushed by a light breeze that rattled the leaves. I stayed to the left side as I made my way to it. Red blood pooled near the door. My heart thudded furiously in my chest and sweat drenched my forehead. I cut my eyes to the car. Lilly was vigilant.
    I checked the top of the door jam and the base of the door for wiring. Gingerly, I pushed the door inward, but it only moved a few inches before it stopped.
    My breath was shaky, as I tried to breathe in through my nostrils. The door had opened enough for me to peek through a narrow crack. An old man lied on the floor; two rounds stacked one on top of the other in his chest. Tied to a black, faux leather office chair was a shotgun, it sat next to the wall. Fishing line, nigh invisible in the dark room, ran from the trigger to the doorknob. Had I burst through the door, the blast would have ripped me in two.
    I motioned for Lilly to join me. She got out of the car and ran up the driveway until she reached me.
    “What is it?”
    “There’s a dead old man inside. Someone rigged the door with a shotgun. I need to go around and see if there’s another way in. Call for backup but tell them to be careful how they approach.”
    “Okay, but why?”
    “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here, Lilly. Until we know, safety is our watchword.”
    “Okay.”
    I backtracked my steps and made my way to the gate that led into the backyard. A rusty metal latch secured the gate. In the distance I heard sirens. Someone covered the faucet in the front yard with a blue bucket. I took it and leaned it against the fence and stood on top of it.
    “Jeez,” I muttered to myself. Two more bodies were in the backyard. My eyes searched the ground for devices. Not seeing any, I crossed the rickety fence and landed next to an unkept rose bush. Thorns cut into my forearms. Squared blocks of concrete formed a path to the back porch. Halfway to the porch though, stuck between two blocks was an anti-tank mine. I knelt on the concrete block, making sure to stay small on it and not let my feet touch anything on the ground.
    My eyes drifted across the backyard, and my heart began to beat thunderously in my chest. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Then, I reached for my phone and dialed Lilly.
    “Yeah?”
    “Stay out of the backyard.”
    “Okay, why?”
    “It’s a minefield.”
    “Where are you?”
    “In the backyard.”
    “Are you okay? Back up is on their way here now. Can you get out?”
    “I’m fine. Look around and touch nothing. If anything appears disturbed, consider it rigged to blow. Call for our explosive ordnance guys and tell them we have anti-tank mines in the back yard.”
    “Okay. Do you think Jackson did this?”
    “No. I think his dad was afraid he’d return.”

  • A flash of the past…unedited…

    May 24th, 2022

    As I stepped from my car, Chunk following on my heels, the scream of a red hawk broke the silence around my cabin. We watched as the hawk launched itself airborne, its powerful legs thrusting it to a great height, his cry a warning of danger close.

    Predators recognize predators.

    The warning cry faded as the hawk’s wings propelled it into the black-clouded firmament. Me and Chunk walked down to my rose bed. Last year’s plants have borne forth full-bodied roses. I picked the dead blooms from each tender plant.

    Another cry filled the silent air. The hawk was back, still warning the inhabitants of the trees that a predator was on the prowl. I knew it for a warning because predators don’t warn when striking.

    On the hunt, silence is your friend. Each miniscule movement draws the hunter closer to the prey. I plucked the dead blooms off and tossed them to the ground. Years have passed since I hunted prey. Unlike the predator watching me from its perch at the top of the oak, my days of hunting are over.

    I don’t trap, hunt or fish. I’ve done enough to last a lifetime. My time in the military sated my bloodlust.

    There was time when I was overcome with a murderous spirit. A time I sought vengeance for people who could not visit it upon those who killed them. Now, I’m not so sure the victims would’ve wanted us to do the things we’ve done.

    I bear the scars of my pride and arrogance.

    No one forced me to fight. I chose to be a vessel of violence, an avenging angel who vowed to make the guilty pay, regardless of the cost to the innocent people that was caught in the crossfire.

    Looking back, I see why we did not warn the innocent. It’d scare off the predators we hunted. Instead, we decided the results we would achieve, diminished the cost of our actions.

    We were wrong.

  • Randomness, cheesy movies, and other non-sensical goodness…unedited…

    May 24th, 2022

    Good evening, y’all.

    I am watching a movie from 1991 titled Cover Up, starring Dolph Lundgren, Lisa Berkley and Louis Gossett Jr. It’s okay for a wannabe action flick.

    The ending is, well, it sucks. But it’s the 90s.

    As is typical of movies from that era, it’s cheesy. The story isn’t bad, it’s just not good. There are many questions I asked myself while watching it. For instance, why is the young woman always acting like she’s hiding something? It didn’t matter if she was fully dressed, wearing a house coat, shooting people, she seemed to have secrets.

    “Pardon me, while I unload this high end piece of weaponry into your skull! You’re not cleared to know why though.”

    It was slow and plodding and seemed to take three hours instead of the 1 hour and 37 minute run time.

    Prior to the movie, I worked my way through Part III of The Silent Corner written by Dean Koontz. Unlike the movie I just watched, this book is phenomenal. Now, allow me to preface my writing with this statement. I’m a Koontz fan. Have been since my teenaged years.

    The book, the first of the Jane Hawk novels, is an amazing read. He toys with your emotions, and I’ve laughed at some of it. Other parts had me ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’, and other parts had me biting my lower lip.

    It’s a great read. I can’t wait to finish it, so I can start the second book. Koontz is one of my favorite authors. I follow him on social media, and he seems like a genuinely good guy.

    As I collect more and more novels, all of which I intend to read, I find myself specializing in only a handful of authors. Koontz is one of them, along with Faulkner, Grisham, and others. Books, like cheesy movies, seem to get better with age.

    Although, I read Where the Crawdads Sing by Deana Owens, and I must confess-I was blown away. It took me a month to read that book. Not because it was hard to read. I didn’t want it to end. Usually, I don’t use the word beautiful to describe a book.

    Beautiful is a word that I associate with Where the Crawdads Sing. The book is masterfully written, the scenes are gorgeous, and she nailed the atmosphere of life in the swamp.

    In hindsight, I should read it again. Every year, I read 1984 and The Art of War. This year, I’ve focused on other things, such as The Complete Collection of Maus.

    Still, between reading and watching cheesy movies, I’ve got my hands full. Throw in writing, and it’s a heck of a life I’ve got going on. Would you believe it’s 1030 here, and I’m still sitting here acting like I’m retired.

    Oh wait, I am.

    Retirement suits me, until it doesn’t. There are days when I long to return to the work force and just be a normal guy. Those days are long behind me. Normality never did suit me. Even when I worked full time, normal was a ship I never boarded.

    Life is too short to be ‘normal.’ Be authentic. There’s a shortage of ‘real’ people. Be a rebel. Stand out.

    Have a good night, and I’ll chat with you all soon.

    Freeman

  • A Word of Encouragement….my last writing of the day…unedited…

    May 23rd, 2022

    I spent hours yesterday looking for my completed manuscript. Hours. 

    It somehow eluded me that I had failed to save it to my desktop, instead, I trusted it to OneDrive and saved it there. 

    Now, I don’t know about anyone else, but sometimes I want to open my finished work and look at the word count.

    To me, it’s exciting to gaze upon the finished draft and sigh, “I did that.”

    Finishing something is its own reward.  The elation you feel when you realize the discipline it took to work through the problems that arise during writing is worth the cost. 

    All the mornings that you got up, unwillingly, and sat at your desk, pounded coffee, and wondered if you were a writer or a pretender. It’s all contained within the finished product. 

    Your self-doubts vanish when you crack open your manuscript. 

    Sometimes, I want to leap on my desk, beat on chest like Kong, and shout, “I’m a writer! Hear me roar.”

    Then, I see my dad in my mind’s eye, curling up his index finger and saying, “hop up here chickee and crow.”

    My dad wasn’t a man given to many words, but I have no doubts he’d be proud that I stuck it out and finished. He and mom raised us to realize that the race isn’t to the quick, nor is it to the strongest, instead, it goes to those who persevere in the face of adversity. 

    The closer you get to achieving your goal, the stiffer the opposition you face. I am just going where my fingers take me this morning. 

    Keep your head up, be stout of heart, and take another step forward. 

    You’ve got this.

    Freeman

  • You’ve gotta suck to improve…this morning’s post from my secondary blog…unedited…

    May 23rd, 2022

     It’s two in the morning here, rain pelts my cabin’s tin roof. My pup, Chunkers, is underneath his blanket softly snoring, and I can’t help but think, “that’s what I should be doing.” Ah well, as the old saying goes, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

    Then, I’m sure I’ll complain that all I do is sleep.

    Last year, I had a super productive year as a writer. I wrote seven murder mysteries, and two complete stories. This year, I have completed my first novel, written one murder mystery, and completed two informal edits of completed works.

    Why do I feel as if I have completely mucked up the works?

    There are a couple of contests I hope to participate in this year. Both are in July. I had an opportunity last weekend to submit a piece of writing, but I don’t trust myself to put it out there for people to judge it. July is looming like my own personal Everest. 

    How do people do it? By that I mean, how does one have faith that their work is going to stand up against the scrutiny of others and not wilt under the fervent heat of their criticism? I don’t know, I just have to man up (so to speak) and suck, I guess.

    That’s the only to get better, or so ‘they’ say.

    So, here’s to sucking and hoping that they’re right. I’ll let you know how it goes.

  • A rainy day Good morning and a few random thoughts…unedited…

    May 23rd, 2022

    I was on Twitter the other day, and someone posed this question: What is love?

    Cute, isn’t it? That puppy dog kind of affection is so…disgusting. I can hear my critics from here. “You’re jaded!” My answer was “emotional upheaval.”

    I know I’m jaded. I’ve been me a long time, I don’t need anyone to tell me what I already know. So, I thought I would expand on my answer since it seems to lack punch.

    Love is like, um, strapping yourself down on the train tracks, and then daring the train to run over you. I woke up laughing in my bed not even half an hour ago.

    Yeah, I find myself hilarious.

    Anyway, it’s two in the morning here. It’s raining…again. Chunk is snoring from underneath his blanket.

    But here’s the kicker. Not a week later the poser of the above question was back with another question: How do you get over heartbreak?

    Y’all excuse me while I go channel my inner Red Forman from That 70’s Show.

    Have a great day!

  • Faithless…new writing, unedited, incomplete…

    May 23rd, 2022

    The problem with rattling bushes is that you never expect what falls into your lap. Or at least that’s what my mother said to me. “If you go looking for trouble, you’re bound to find it.” Mad Michael wasn’t much of a father, but even he knew you don’t hunt trouble.
    You let it come to you.
    As Lilly and I drove to the address provided to us by Paddy, I thought about the man I had seen last night. Lilly drove, so I had time to think of other things. Mostly because her ability to avoid collisions, and the high probability she’d cause one, had taught me the value of turning my attention elsewhere while she drove.
    My partner was an expert behind the wheel, according to her, but my stress level would hit all-time heights if I didn’t avoid looking at the road. Lilly had her right hand on the wheel, her left hand held her phone, and she was trying to talk to me. All while driving.
    “What are you thinking about, Konan?”
    “There was a guy sitting on the bench last night when I boarded the bus. I’m trying to picture his face.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “He had a beard, like a blonde Viking would have.”
    “So, he was a blonde?”
    “Maybe.”
    “What else do you remember about him?”
    “Not much. It was dark.”
    I put my left hand against the roof of the car and held onto to the bar above the door with my right. Lilly sighed, took a sip of coffee, and said, “I’ve got it, Konan. Sheesh. You worry more than an old woman.”
    Lilly avoided the car, the owner of the Buick SUV jammed on the horn, and I leaned back against the seat. It was totally within the realm of possibility that one day I would file a disability claim for a bad back.
    “Do you think the guy has something to do with our case? Was it Titus?”
    “I don’t know. It didn’t look like Titus, but if he’s back he’s bound to change his appearance.”
    “We ran him out of town, and he never showed to any of the usual ports. Do you think he survived?”
    “I’d put money on it.”
    “Why?”
    “Survivors are fighters, Lilly. Titus didn’t give up when Bronowski got pinched. He didn’t turn himself in when his other cohort killed herself on the church steps. Titus continued to fight to not only exist but to escape.”
    “You admire him? Do I need to remind you of what they did to Bradley Freeman?”
    “Nope. I don’t need reminding. Drop me off about a mile from our destination. You continue going to the home. I want to check something out.”
    “What?”
    “Just drop me out. Don’t get out of the car until I peck on your window.”
    “Konan, what is going on?”
    “Glance out your side mirror. Do you notice that black truck three cars back?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s been with us the whole way.”
    “Do you think it’s Titus?”
    “I don’t know. Speed up and pull off somewhere. Let it pass us.”
    Lilly sped up and raced toward a small community. A bridge crossed a small creek prior to entering the community. She pulled the car off the right side of the road and popped the hood. I got out and lifted it. The black truck passed us, and I tried to get a peek at the driver, to no avail.
    The windows were pitch black. It continued into the community, and I pushed the hood down. I climbed into the car, and Lilly proceeded to the address. There was no black truck in sight.
    “Where did it go?”
    “I don’t know, Lilly, but I don’t like it. Something isn’t right.”

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