The Brown Hound Read online

  The Brown Hound

  A Series

  “The

  Hounds’ Betrayal”

  Book 1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Copyright © 2020 Grace J. Gray. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  Prologue

  Have you ever wondered how well you know your friends? There are, loosely, 3 types of friends you will make throughout your life. There are your intimates, the close ones, the ones who will tell you about all those times they got too drunk to drive home and peed themselves trying to fight the bartender to return their car keys, declaring they had had just a little to drink. Those are the kinds that make life better. Those are the ones who give you the platform to share and through sharing, resolve your own stories, bring them to an end, learn from them and move on.

  There are your 'friends' who might share some funny stories, but there's always an air of caution in these relationships. No one wants to push these relationships to the intimate section or the third section we're about to discuss. The acquaintances. These are tricky people. They could drift in and out of the friend section, and on some days, they might not even acknowledge you.

  Now that we've broken that down, you have already begun to form a mental list of all your friends and are now categorizing where each one stands. Usually, it's the friend compartment that is strange.

  You can spend a ski tour with a friend and share plenty of intimate moments, but these people don't have any reason to stand by you or try to restore parity if the relationship is damaged. Everyone wants to protect their own self-respect and you can’t blame them. For some people, that is all they have, and it’s a fragile thing. It takes years to cultivate precisely, just how you want it to be, and it can slip away in its entirety from your hands within but an hour in court.

  Remember, your friends can destroy you much more easily than your enemies. At least, objectively. But they wouldn't, though, right? They're your friends, after all. After all!!

  I've recently been caught up in a situation where someone I thought was my friend, someone I thought was becoming an 'intimate,' slipped down the list; he might not even be on the list anymore. What I don't understand, and I might never understand, is why? Why the lies, why the need to not reciprocate the trust I have placed? It is a strange old thing. Friendships: how they begin and how they end.

  I will never understand, but maybe you will.

  Table of Contents

  Your Free Gift

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Your Free Gift

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  Chapter 1

  “All rise!” The bailiff was extra chipper today. It was the big day of the decision. The jury had been locked inside their room for many hours. These were the people who either liked jury duty or were just not clever enough to get out of their obligations.

  Seated right beside me was Jake. My friend. The person being accused of the murder of the Smiths. I was locked in myself. I didn't remember the last time I had felt this jittery in my stomach. My first big case out of college, and I was here defending a person who was seemingly destined for a life behind bars.

  "You have brought so much misery over our town. This is something that I will never forget and something that is not justifiable." Zerk Smith, brother of the deceased father, spoke at the stand. It was all very blurry on this final day when everything was to be decided, set in stone, and motion.

  "We don't know how this could happen...I feel so incomplete...you took away my little nephew, and I hope God gives me the strength to forgive you...because so help me God, for I don't have it in me to forgive this monster."

  Zerk's father was also present, seated quietly, sobbing in his seat in the back of the court. Adam Smith was a proud man; he had grown up in Tampa's cigar rush era and hand-rolled thousands of cigars himself.

  It was one of the major things keeping the local economy afloat at that point. His father had fought with the confederacy; it was why the courtroom looked more like a confederate convention. Zerk had stepped off the stand; his bald head shone like the sun under the fresh fluorescent lights. He was sobbing—alligator tears.

  Jake hadn't as much as moved during that first statement. He seemed calm, listening to the chitter-chatter behind him and watching as everyone who passed him by gave him a stare that could melt right through his field of vision. But that didn't happen. Jake was cool. A good sign. A guilt-free aura. My thoughts were jostling in and out of my mind like it was FL union station.

  And then there was Bob.

  "Your honor, there are no words that can describe the unimaginable tragedy that brings us before the court today." He looked as sharp as ever.

  Even in my college days, he was quite the joker in class. Even as an instructor, he was always a pretty chill guy.

  This was, however, the first time I was in his presence like this. I couldn't focus. I looked in front, and I saw my mentor and friend and beside me was the person whose head the nation wanted on a spike.

  “My comments cannot begin to describe the pain and suffering the defendant's actions have caused these families and members of our community. But I am here, your honor, and members of the jury, to recollect some of the details of the crime and paint an accurate picture of the events that transpired on the night of the 2nd of June.”

  The courtroom was full of moist air. I didn't know if I was still focused on Bob, who was laying into my client. I had to stay focused.

  After all, I had forced myself to do this. I could've been standing with Vesuvio and Bob, but that wasn't why I became a lawyer. I wanted to preserve my ideas of actual representation. Providing the best representation to the people who need it the most. I always felt that Bob wanted us to be comfortable. Stay tied down to our comfort zones. I don’t blame him. We were like sons to him, so, of course, he would want that.

  None of us lawyers believed in the process that decided who was evil and who wasn't.

  How could we? It is but an estimated guess. A looking at the evidence and deciding whether the person standing trial is fit for a life of misery or not. But there was something about everything that was behind this ritual. The robes, the judge sitting tall above the rest; it was magnificent.

  “...And that poor family had to die. And for what? Who gave this man the right to come into our country and do what he did. What he did is despicable, your honor.”

  I was getting dizzy now. I just wanted this to be over, but I still had to stand up and offer my client's side of the story. Or at least the side we had worked on. I was confident in his story. I believed him. I still believed the real killer was out there. Maybe even in this courtroom.

  I looked to my right, and I saw him there, looking intently, listening carefully to every word and offering up nothing but the occasional chuckle, as if to suggest that this was all a big joke. He was the only one laughing, and the joke was on him.


  ***

  The Beginning

  "All good, Jake? You seem a little worked up. Haha! It's all that studying. You're working through medical school, right?" Jennifer was usually the first one to come to the RR diner. She had just started as a nurse and was on the death shift.

  She had to drive out to Tampa from Palm Harbor every morning as early as possible.

  She was young, 22, and had a waterfall of curly golden hair. Jennifer had asked me what Jake did and was trying her hardest to make a decent impression. Jake didn't talk much. I couldn't even hear him from where I sat. The RR Diner. Palm Harbor's finest. It was the perfect place to experience a little piece of America. We were a peaceful bunch.

  "You know she's crazy about you, right?"

  “And I’m crazy about that scholarship at Tampa. I don’t need any more distractions. But I will say that she is kinda cute.” Jake was blushing a little.

  “You’re a dog, Jake. Anyway, I have to rush down to the court. Duty calls. Let’s see who I get stuck with today.”

  “What kind of people do you represent, T?”

  "It's either the bums who no one wants to represent or the ones who have no hope. Great gig, right?"

  Jake smiled at me. He was quite beautiful. Cheekbones carved as if the gods took some extra time to make sure this one had the perfect bone structure.

  He looked like the leaves of autumn. Withered but beautiful. He looked much older than he was.

  We were seemingly the same ripe old age of 26, but he looked like he was in his mid-thirties. He was a hard worker, coming from an upper-middle-class family. He had been here for over a year now, and after getting his diner job, he quickly became acquainted with most of the people in the area, even becoming close with some.

  "It sure is. Go save some lives, Tom."

  ***

  Here I was—in the United States District Court. The walls were chipped, the paint coming off the walls forming abstract patterns. The smell of liberty. That's what John Vesuvio represented. His small frame was not very intimidating, but you just had to see him in a courtroom.

  "Any calls so far, Vesuvio?"

  We had graduated from the bar association at the same time. It was a big deal for both of us.

  "Old nails and brick walls, T. Old nails and brick walls." He had a sense of humor. That was for sure. He was old-school. One of those Gary Cooper strong silent types. He just went on with his business.

  He had come from an Italian family that worked in waste management. He could've done pretty well at that gig, too, and might even have earned a lot more if he had gone with his family, but he lived for the law. If he’d made it a little earlier, he might have represented his dad before he passed away.

  Our days usually were spent waiting for the court to assign cases to us. It was all quite new and exciting. We used to work together, bringing other lawyers’ mail in at Milton Hammes.

  We learned as much as we could from the people there, but we found stories of success more than that. Bob Buckhorn was our hero. A local legend in this area. He deserved all the praise, too. I wanted to be just like him. I used to think how this guy knows exactly what it’s like to be a real people- person. A man of the law. A real ambassador for the law.

  He was behind putting Oba Chandler behind bars for the murder of Joan Rogers and her daughters. The story is somewhat of an urban legend now.

  A particular moment of genius directly led to the capture, and it was Bob who recommended that a piece of Chandler's handwriting be plastered on the local billboards.

  Chandler's neighbor later recognized the writing, and the case was pretty much open and shut from there. We wanted our own Chandler moment. That dream was what got us this far. But we quickly realized you only get about three or four Chandlers in your career.

  “Vesuvio, DA wants to see you and Tommy.” Bob’s secretary left in a flash, gone almost as suddenly as she arrived.

  “That’s odd,” Vesuvio remarked. His mouth was open, one tooth crooked in the front. You could smell the coffee on his breath from a mile away.

  It was a huge office with wood paneling, and the smell of lavender. Empty boxes of donuts displayed the ruins of a meeting completed just before the one we were having. Bob got off the phone with someone and had us take a seat in the meanwhile. I could never get enough of this office. It was so official -- professional and successful.

  “There’s something I need to discuss with the two of you. You know it’s been a while since I have had you two doing the rounds around here, but this might be your big break.”

  We sat on the edges of our chairs, listening intently.

  “Three bodies out on Oak Forest Lane. The Smiths. Shot dead.” Bob’s face was unflinching.

  “Local police were anonymously tipped off that a delivery boy was the last person to be seen at the place. They have their suspect in custody.”

  This felt like a big moment for us. Vesuvio gave me a look and I realized that we might just be moving up the ladder if the big boss trusts us with this case.

  “Now this might gather a lot of media attention and could potentially go off the rails.”

  We knew this case might be given to someone else eventually, but it didn’t stop us from feeling that little rush of excitement.

  "I think you're ready for this step up, boys. Do you?" Bob was unwaveringly confident. It was like everything he said was just so right.

  We left his office, and he waited for his next meeting. The chief of police, Murdock, walked past us, reading from some sheets of paper, and he entered Bob's office as his confidantes waited outside.

  "This is it, Big T. We've made it.

  “First and foremost, I would like to say Fuck Bukowski, fuck those assholes at the bar who said we would never get our licenses back, and fuck your dad. We made it T."

  I almost expected him to summon a bottle of wine from his jacket and pour us drinks as he made his toast.

  “Hey...hey you,” Vesuvio was trying to grab the attention of the policemen who had escorted Murdock. “Any leads on who this suspect is?” The door opened just as he was about to say something.

  "Let's go." Murdock's word was biblical. The policemen waiting instantly followed, and they disappeared like a whisper.

  Bob walked out and called us back in.

  What followed was hard to believe.

  "It can't be. I see him every day; I'm practically the guy's only friend. They've made a big, big mistake, V. It can't be him."

  A lone taxi was to drop us off at the police station. I had already made up my mind about what I was going to do there. I didn’t think Vesuvio would have let me come if he knew what I was planning.

  "T, this is a bad idea. Do you think anyone in there will just let you walk in there and talk to this guy? He might have killed three people."

  "But he didn't. It can't be. I just can't believe this." Saying that the situation had me flabbergasted was an understatement. It was impossible. I had seen him just this morning. Same as ever. How could he be the prime suspect in all of this?

  The situation called for more analysis, but I had already let my emotions get the better of me.

  We arrived at last. My heart was racing; I was half-hoping that the RR diner employed another man I knew nothing about. But this was Jake.

  “How may I help you?”

  “We’re here to see a suspect, um, he must be in holding. Jake...That’s J-A-K-E. Jake.”

  “Yes, well, is he a client of yours?”

  “Yes, he…”

  Vesuvio shoved me and pulled me before I could finish my sentence. He had tiny hands for a person who could grip someone like a professional UFC fighter.

  “Are you out of your mind?! What the fuck are you doing?” Vesuvio barked, shaking me. “You’re going to give up our biggest chance and just...what? What were you thinking?”

  "I have to know, I just… I know he didn't do it. This is just a misunderstanding." I wanted to calm him down, but it was useless -- a ro
ad leading up to a brick wall.

  "Look, I'll do this alone; you don't have to go in with me. But I am going in to see him." My gut was telling me that what I was doing was right. It didn't add up.

  Jake was a medical student, a waiter, a soccer player, but a murderer?

  "I do not want to be seen here. You have any idea what Bob will do?" Vesuvio was grabbing onto straws now. His rage had simmered down, but he was concerned – there were tiny droplets of sweat on his forehead.

  He didn't want me to ruin another opportunity this way.

  "You know what happened to us, V."

  "That does not mean you're just gonna jump into any place you think is on fire. Remember Cape Cod? The ocean. JFK museum. I have dreams, man. We have dreams."

  “Excuse me, sir?” We had forgotten about the officer at the counter.

  "Just a minute. Look, Vesuvio, I love you like a brother, but I just have to see him. I can't run away from my gut this time. And I have a good feeling here. I think I'm right about this guy, and he deserves a shot."

  I couldn't believe those words had just left my mouth. It was a closing down of many doors I had shed light on with Vesuvio for years. Even after our licenses were revoked, we were still together; we had a dream.

  Or, at least, Vesuvio did. I was there to ride along with him up until now.

  “You know what this means?” Vesuvio was almost heartbroken. But, I knew he had no heart. He was a sly bastard. I could sense that some aspect of trust we had between us had taken a big hit.

  Vesuvio tapped my shoulder, sympathetically, almost like he was trying to suggest that I had made the biggest mistake of my life this time and that there was no coming back from this. He turned to leave. He didn’t have to say anything.

  “I would like to see my client now.”

  It was a long walk until I got to Jake. Bob’s words kept ringing in my ears like bells.

  “The more shameless the liar, the more they will oversell the lie.”

  I had to stay focused, I thought. My heart raced as we edged closer to the cell. An image of Jake presented itself in my head. It was just this morning I saw you. Everything was perfectly normal. What happened?