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

he uses to feed himself and to wipe his ass.”
“I’d have to agree, Barry. He probably knows Brush Creek better than the engineers who built the damn creek.”
“Look, we’re going to scour the area real thoroughly. If you come up with something, or if we come up something, let’s not hesitate to dispatch one another.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Ten-four.”
Tactical Officer Lockhart shot across the dark skies with his searchlight beaming down on Satchel Paige Stadium and the Deerbrook Apartments and nearby residences. Things might’ve been inconvenient for the residents, but one of the sickest men in Kansas City, Missouri was still on the loose. Lockhart aimed the bright light straight into the very tunnel in which Charlie ran inside.
Only water dripping from tunnel crevices and raw sewage plastered to the ground came within plain view. The brilliant burst of light casted from high above became a big pain in the ass for residents within a six block radius. Largely an African American neighborhood, men and women and their children stepped onto their porches and back patios to understand the magnitude of the sudden disturbance.
Considered the mother and caretaker of the whole neighborhood, Mother Esther Castleberry, one of the shortest and thinnest women one could’ve ever laid eyes on, smoldered her way through the building crowd. Mother Castleberry, a one-time native of Shreveport, Louisiana, had invested almost fifty years of her life to keeping the neighborhood safe from vandals, thieves, rapists, murderers, and hoodlums from any walk of life.
Mother Castleberry approached Officer Jacobson as the mild night winds blew her feathery thin gray hair every direction. “Officer, officer, could you tell us what’s going on?”
“Mam,” Officer Jacobson crooned. “Probably one of the most dangerous men in the city is on the loose around here. We started a foot chase on the other side of Brush Creek and he somehow got away.”
“What’d this man do, officer?” Mother Castleberry asked, her face twisted.
“What didn’t he do?” Officer Jacobson said. “We sent one of our canines in after him and he killed the poor dog. He whacked one of my fellow officers upside the head with a chunk of rock from inside the tunnel. He jumped from the top of the tunnel and floored me and my fellow officer with a big tree branch.”
Mother Castleberry extended her tiny hand towards Jacobson. “Sir, my name’s Esther Castleberry. I’ve been the block captain around here for almost fifty years. Most folks around here call me Mother Castleberry.”
“Fifty Years!” Jacobson cheered. “Mam, what’s the secret to your longevity?”
“Officer, I care about people. Folks gotta look out for one another.”
Jacobson pointed to the tunnel. “Mam, do you know anything about the tunnel over there?”
“Only that it goes a long way under the ground and ends up a whole lot of different places.”
“Have you ever seen anyone go in there?”
“Water department, but that was a few years ago.”
“The man we’re looking for ran in there.”
“Things are usually quiet around here. The only real noise we hear around here anymore is when they have baseball games over at the stadium.”
“And there’ve been some great games played over at Satchel Paige Stadium.”
“Brush Creek is the last place I’d wanna hang out. The news folks still talking about those two women they found all cut up in trashbags.”
“We believe that the man we went after tonight might be responsible for both of those killings.”
“Brush Creek is a scary place at nighttime.”
“Most people would agree with that.”
Jacobson loved talking with the kind old woman, but he and his colleagues had plenty of work in front of them. Tactical Flight Officer Lockhart worked the controls inside his OH-58C helicopter to make a hopeful discovery of their suspect. The chopper roared across the clear nighttime skies. The thick blades ripped through light breezes at sensible altitudes. The bastard they wanted was far too smart for them. The man had advanced military training which could’ve far exceeded their training.
Charlie had traveled just beyond a hundred yards inside the wet and smelly stretched tunnel. Translation, he’d gone beyond the complete length of a football field. The pharmaceuticals, the detergents, the household chemicals, the pesticides and insecticides, and all the raw urine and fecal coliform he’d explained to his victims, were being smeared on his clothing and splashed onto his face.
Stormwater and wastewater shot out in big spurts and pounded against his body. Those familiar squealing sounds echoed from the dark holes inside the tunnel. Charlie barely had enough room to crawl himself through the narrow passage way. Not a blink of light spilled into the pitch black tunnel. The solid concrete surface scratched against his clothing and skin. His aggressive movement caused enough friction to create painful scrapes and even bleeding. A pack of large sewer rats picked up on the blood scent.
A chorus of rodent squeals signaled Charlie might’ve been in grave danger. The infrastructure of the old decaying Brush Creek tunnels leaked with more water, which created more holes for the rats to build nests. Not only did Charlie carry his own body through the spooky passageway, but now he carried a serious pack of sewer rats. The rats boarded themselves onto his frame starting from his head down to his feet. Charlie jerked and twisted his arms and legs with barely enough room to shake the rats off. Creating such turbulence only stirred the creatures into total retaliation.
Their long sharp teeth sunk into his thick skin. The ferocious animals in the jungles of Vietnam were no match for him. He’d crowned himself “King of Brush Creek”. No human nor creature measured up to him. One-by-one, he grabbed the sewer rats by their heads and snapped their necks. Their squeals had signaled their sudden demise. Charlie left a trail of dead rodents stretching for more than several yards.
After traveling for more than two miles through the dark lifeless tunnel, an unexpected burst of light casted itself a few feet ahead. Finally, there’d been light at the end of the tunnel. Charlie rolled to his left side and his 2000 ml urine collection bag burst open like a water balloon. The medical supply company who sold him the urine bag promised maximum protection against tearing. No big deal since he had several more stashed away in boxes in his closet. Charlie had defeated an enemy once again.


CHAPTER—26

The diehard and dedicated lead homicide detective Lieutenant Jerry Overstreet climbed out of bed when he received the message about how close the KCPD had come to apprehending the possible suspect of the two Brush Creek murders. Despite the time being three thirty a.m., Lieutenant Overstreet rushed to the vicinity of Brush Creek Boulevard and Swope Parkway. His protégé, Detective Carey “Corky” Schroeder, arrived only minutes after his mentor.
Both detectives stopped off at one of the local convenience stores for their favorite cups of coffee and donuts. Officer Richard Dolan sat at the back of an ambulance getting patched up from the blow he’d gotten from the rock thrown by Charlie.
Canine Officer Seth Jacobson stood to the side of Dolan with countless visions going through his mind.
Lieutenant Overstreet sure had a load of questions for both officers. “Richie, about what time did you spot the perp in the tunnel?”
Dolan sucked in the early morning air. “Jerry, I’d have to say just past midnight, maybe slightly past one o’clock a.m.”
“Did your floodlight help you capture a good glance of him?”
“Like I told Seth, this guy had a nightmare-of-a-face. It looked like he’d been badly scarred across his entire face.”
“Did you make out his build, like his height and weight? How about his hair color and other features?”
“Shucks Jerry, it all happened so fast,” Dolan conservatively recalled. “By the time I whipped out my pistol, and told him to stay put until I got over by the tunnel, the sonofabitch gun-slinged a big chunk of rock and whacked me upside the head. By then, I responded to the canine unit and waited for Seth and Bruno to arrive.”
“Why didn’t you request backup?”
“I figured that I was only dealing with a single subject. Seth and Bruno were the only backup I needed.”
“Is it true that you fired a shot at him?”
“Had to since he looked like he might’ve been armed and dangerous.”
“Armed and dangerous is right,” Overstreet motioned with strong sentiments. “Richie, we’re not dealing with the average criminal here. It’s true that I wasn’t here when you fired the shot at this guy, but I can picture in my mind that he avoided getting shot and ran further off into the tunnel.”
“Avoiding a bullet and whacking me upside the head takes a lot of skill.”
“Skills that I bet the average criminal around here doesn’t have.”
Jacobson eased from around the side of the ambulance.
He had big questions for his superior. “Why is it that when I send my precious Bruno into the tunnel to apprehend that psycho, my dog that I’ve worked with for many years ends up dead?”
“The psycho you’re talking about is beyond reasoning,” Overstreet examined. “This man has tactical military and special forces training.”
“How do you know that, Jerry?”
“Who else can snap the neck of a large German Shepard as though it’s a little helpless puppy? Who else can make a clean getaway from trained officers like yourselves? Only someone with skilled training can stay from under the detection of the Air Support Division.”
“Speaking of Air Support, I wonder what’s the latest report with Barry.”
Overstreet picked up the radio belonging to Officer Dolan. He checked to see if the air unit made any progress. “Officer Lockhart, can you respond?”
“Yes Jerry, I respond.”
“Any ten-twenty on our possible suspect?”
“Status is the suspect ran into one of the tunnels and haven’t been spotted since.”
“How far can your chopper searchlight reach inside the tunnel?”
“Only the first twenty feet or so.”
“I’m aware those