Brush Creek Charlie - D. B. Reynolds (best pdf reader for ebooks TXT) 📗

nearby barrack.
Charlie drifted back into the present. It surprised even him to see Sandy still standing along the concrete walkway of Brush Creek. She fixed her eyes on the large bulge to the left side of his stomach. Ducks, squirrels, rabbits, frogs and other creatures of Brush Creek rushed to return to their natural habitats. The brightness of the half-moon above put Charlie square in the spotlight.
“Is that a colostomy bag sticking out from under your shirt?” Sandy asked Charlie, using her own close observation.
Charlie locked his teeth together. He curled both hands into tight fists and then said, “No, it’s just a big wart that’s been growing on my stomach the last twenty years. Can’t you see that I wear this bag because my dick and balls got blasted off by enemy ammunition when I served over in Nam. What, you’ve got a problem with that?”
“It’s not my problem, Charlie, it’s your problem. I don’t have problems with enjoying some toe-curling and hair-raising sex.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, it’s just that it’s not my fault that you can’t enjoy some hot steamy sex.”
“How dare you!” Charlie resisted. “This happened to me serving my country.”
“Oh, you have my sympathy,” Sandy taunted. “But, you murdered my wonderful dog and nothing can bring him back. How could you be so cold and brutal?”
Charlie stepped closer towards Sandy. She wasn’t taking any chances. Keen eyesight and fierce reflexes led her to scan the ground for a weapon. More broken pieces of glass were scattered near the creek’s water reserve. Sandy bent down and snatched up a razor-sharp piece of soda bottle.
“Nothing’s going to help you,” Charlie dismayed, drawing back his strong left arm.
“Don’t be so sure about that, buddy,” Sandy challenged, her tightest grip ever on the piece of glass.
“I can tell you something about yourself that you didn’t think I knew.”
“And what would that be?”
“You’re a lesbian.”
“And proud of it, too.”
“I never could stand homos. And that includes you lesbo women, too.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”
Charlie and Sandy studied the moves of one another. Who’d be the brave one to strike first? Intensity between the opposite sexes grew thicker than the debris around Brush Creek.
“You dykes are a disgrace to society.”
“Jealous, my friend? Jealous because you don’t have the tools to satisfy women or men?”
“Don’t you dare insult my fucking manhood!”
“You don’t have the manhood to insult,” Sandy sneered, drawing back her skinny right arm.
Charlie’d been tortured enough with her insults. He sprinted towards Sandy with the same piece of sharp glass he’d used to kill Bolo. Little did this maniac know she’d been trained in martial arts and special tactics. Charlie swung at Sandy and missed. He swung a second time and missed again.
He knew he wasn’t dealing with the average female. She did some swinging of her own. The razor-sharp edge of the glass made malicious contact with the side of his neck and in the middle of his colostomy bag. Fresh urine from the bag leaked out like a tiny water fountain. The reddest blood shot from the side of his neck. For Sandy, her self-defense training paid off.
“That’s all you’ve got?” Charlie laughed, both hands nursing the cut to his neck.
“Got a lot more,” Sandy challenged, ready to strike again.
“Women are the weaker sex.”
“Not this woman.”
“I wish I could take all of you homos, put you on an island together, and then blow that fucking island straight to hell.”
“Us homos don’t have much love for you, neither.”
Charlie dashed towards Sandy a second time. She jumped to the side and sliced him at the middle of his arm. More blood trickled past his hand and spilled onto the ground.
While running away pampering his wounds, Charlie cried out, “I’ll see you again, bitch! War has no beginning, and it has no end. I’ll find you somewhere, because you won’t be safe nowhere on this fucking Earth!”
In a matter of seconds, Charlie dispersed into the acute darkness of Brush Creek. The squirrels, rabbits, ducks, chipmunks, and even rats, seem to have left their habitats to witness what happened between Sandy and Charlie.
The maniac appeared to be nowhere in sight. Sandy fell to the ground where Bolo was stretched out across the blood-stained concrete. Her beloved canine she’d raised since a week old was dead because of some cold-blooded, calculated killer. The Labrador Retriever who protected her, the animal she considered her best friend, was no more than a dog with deep gashes carved into his abdomen. Tears moistened her eyes.
Sandy used female strength to lift Bolo off the ground. Through the tall grasses surrounding the legendary creek, she kicked rocks and branches and wildlife to make her way towards the street where her car was parked. Bolo was placed in the back with lots of old newspapers spread across the seat. Truly a sad event since the dog fulfilled her life. The traffic going up and down Brush Creek Boulevard increased during the late evening hours.
The bright street lights towering above the busy boulevard bathed the blank face of Sandy. Much to her chagrin, why would anyone want to kill her beloved innocent canine? A sudden burst of flashing police lights bounced all around the Toyota Camry owned by Sandy Barnholtz. She snapped out of her dreamworld to look around. A KCPD officer climbed out of his squad car to investigate.
“Mam, is everything okay?” the seasoned officer asked Sandy.
Sandy wiped her eyes to clear out some of the glare. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine, officer.”
“I saw you standing over here by your car. Judging by the way you were looking, I thought you’d been attacked.”
“No, no, I’ve been waiting for the traffic to clear here on Brush Creek Boulevard.”
“Some event took place over at the Brush Creek Community Center.”
“I noticed all those cars coming from over there.”
“Were you just coming from over there in Brush Creek?”
“Yes, got bored at home and decided to take a walk through the creek with my dog.”
“At this time of night?”
“Nightly blues got the best of me.”
The officer joggled his head as he studied the noticeable fright blanketed around Sandy. “Brush Creek’s not the safest place to be in the late night hours. Psychos might be down there.”
“Psychos?” Sandy questioned the officer. Charles Rastelli immediately came to mind.
“That’s right, mam. Body-after-body have been found in Brush Creek over the years. Why do you think people nicknamed it ‘The Creepy Creek’?”
Sandy couldn’t work up enough courage to tell the officer how she’d just encountered a psycho like he’d described.
“It’s a lot safer up towards The Plaza.”
“Couldn’t argue with that, since the Plaza Patrol watches over the rich people’s investments.”
“It’s getting late, officer,” Sandy hinted, looking down at her watch.
The concerned policeman positioned his flashlight inside Sandy’s Toyota. “Is that your dog in the backseat?”
Sandy, sensing he might’ve unveiled what happened just minutes ago, stood before him frozen harder than the glacier icecaps. “Yes, that’s my dog Bolo.”
“Bolo’s his name?”
“Yes.”
“What breed is he?”
“Labrador Retriever.”
“Looks like he’s sleeping like a log.”
Sandy only prayed the officer wouldn’t discover how Bolo was sliced up like a piece of edible meat. Why didn’t she want the officer to know her dog had been killed by some vicious maniac who scoured Brush Creek for his next potential victim?
“My Bolo usually sleeps real heavy.”
“How often do you come to Brush Creek?”
“I’d say every other weekend.”
The officer swung the flashlight over to Sandy.
Dark red spots were soaked into the left pants leg of her jeans.
Carrying Bolo from the creek to her car, she smeared some of his fluids onto her clothing. Not a good sign for her.
“Mam, what’s that on your pants?” the officer noticed with observant eyes.
“What, these little spots here?” Sandy pointed out, glancing down at her pants.
“Looks like tiny drops of blood.”
“Coming through some of those tall weeds, I might’ve got stuck in the legs by a few thorns.”
“Must be some pretty sharp thorns through all that brush.”
“That’s Brush Creek for you.”
“Don’t you think you might need medical attention?”
“Sir, I’ll be just fine. When I get home, I’ll just nurse it with some alcohol or Neosporin and bandages.”
“You sure you don’t want me to call the medics?”
“Positive, officer.”
“Okay, you be careful.”
“I will, officer.”
One of the finest K.C. had to offer got inside his squad car and cruised off. Sandy released a strong sigh of relief. Charlie made a clean getaway. How could she have let him get away with brutalizing her dog? Yet another maniac ran loose on the streets of Kansas City.


CHAPTER—2

Not only did Charles “Charlie The Machete” Rastelli wear the scars of war on his face, but he wore even deeper scars of battle in his heart and mind. He tried his hardest to vanquish the ghostly memories of a war which lost more than a generation. The memories were like indestructible poltergeists. He looked into the mirror and hated what he saw. The cuts on his neck and arm inflicted by Sandy were quite visible.
Replacing his colostomy bag didn’t concern