The Murder Business…new writing, the story goes on…unedited, incomplete…

Konan tried to sleep, but he tossed and turned all night. At 0158 he got out of bed and made him a cup of coffee. A soft drizzle of rain played on his tin roof. Elementary played on his television. His dreams kept him awake. Visions of war, of blood, of the screams of his friends in various stages of dying, it all played out in the theater of his mind.

He sipped his coffee and half-watched the show. It was almost two in the morning, what else would he do? His last dream had alarmed him the most. In his dream he was spraying his fence row. Poison Ivy hung from the fence, weeds grew between the slats. In the dream he ran out of insecticide, he stopped to make some more. A kid, one that looked like the one he shot in the Middle East, came into the yard and sprayed him in the face.

It was a dream, however, it felt real. He woke when he fell to knees in the dream and began to heave up his guts. Instead of the usual liquid discharge, he vomited solid matter. He’d never thought he would die in a dream, but tonight, or rather this morning, the threat of death felt so real.

Konan took several moments to consider the dream. He had never been one to think that dreams held drams of reality. Or any semblance of truth. Most often, dreams were formed of biases and colored with our own experiences. Konan’s experiences with warfare, and his work in homicide all but guaranteed a lifetime of horror. He sipped his coffee.

His thoughts drifted to Billy. Where would Billy hide? He would be entrenched with Cartwright. Neither would stay in a shabby hotel, they wouldn’t rent a home. Or an apartment. The town of Fredericksburg had four hotels. Two were low end, the others were far from high class hotels. “They’d rather die than stay in something lower than their perceived station. They’re operating out of the Fredericksburg Hunting Club.”

Of course. It made sense that they would operate from there. The duo would be surrounded by the type of folks they normally would associate with. It would feel like home. They would have access to a wealth of information about the town, it’s political players, and anything else they would need.

Konan and Lilly would need to revisit the club and kick over some tables. Cheyenne Thomas and her two power players had been prepared for the eventuality of the detectives showing up. “For God’s sake, they were having a drink in their private bar waiting for us.” Konan reached for his phone and called Lilly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lilly sounded as fresh as a newborn.

“I’m up. Wanna come over and discuss murder theory?”

“Sure. Be there in ten.”

Ten minutes later, Lilly pulled up in his tiny yard. Konan stood in the door frame, his right arm stretched overhead gripping the top of the door. Lilly smiled at him.

“Come on in,” said Konan.

She still wore her pajamas. Konan was still in his. It was far too early to change into heavy jeans and boots. Lilly wore pink, fuzzy house shoes. As tired as she was, Konan thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Mentally, Konan pointed his finger at himself and growled, “stop it!” Lilly walked over to the coffee pot and started her a cup of coffee.

“Why are you up so early,” she asked. Konan shrugged.



“Nah. Um, something that happened a long time ago. Well, a person from a long time ago…”

“Tell me.”

Konan told her what happened all those years ago. He left out no details. Then, he recounted his dreams. Lilly looked at him and nodded.

“I’ve had some pretty nasty nightmares lately, too. You wanted to discuss a theory you had?”

“Yeah. I think I know where Cartwright and Billy are staying.”

Lilly sipped her coffee and gazed at Konan over the mouth of the cup. She raised her eyebrows and waited.

“They’re at the hunting club.”

“Why do you think that,” she asked.

“Because, they both think they do the Lord’s work. They believe they’re above others. Where do you find people like that?”

“At an elite club filled with people who consider themselves to be ‘elite.’ That’s a pretty good theory, Konan.”

“It would give them access to the right people, and a safe space to which plan whatever their end game is.”

“Do you think the trinity is involved?”

“Maybe. The bunker was their property. They sold it to the city of Fredericksburg. It’s a convenient piece of evidence.”

“Yeah, they sold it four or five years ago. God only knows how deep this rabbit hole goes, or how many people are involved. This case keeps growing. So, are we going to FHC in a few hours?”

“No. We’re going to take a run at Tia Mathers.”

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