413

By Ed Gilkey

There are probably not two more polar opposite genres than rap music and drag racing. The author is by no means an authority on either.
By 2012, it was apparent that the United States was facing many problems. The laundry list included: jihadists, unemployment, health care woes, unconstitutional and unchallenged moves by government officials,... the list seems endless.
Yet at the core of the nation's ills was the over arching issue of right and wrong. How is it defined? And who defines it ?
Into this maelstrom of chaos, the characters herein find themselves cast.
Nearly 50 years after the radicals of the 1960's found their answers 'blowing in the wind' , what has America become ?
The D&J Racing team of Mountain Home, Va., find themselves ensnared in a world far beyond 1/4 mile races. One will lose life because of it.
And what of the children who walk through the land where selfish pleasure dominates each individual's daily life. Sarah and Micah are about to find out.
There are others who live outside the 'tranquil' world of Mountain Home. They have been gifted to live in the fast lane of 'pop culture'.
Wealthy, yet morally bankrupt, the FATFISTs and BARON ALLs of the world are about one thing- PLEASURE- regardless of the cost. If there money to be made at the expense of the innocence of children-so be it.
Then there are the Runks...an inter-city detective and his wheelchair bound wife. Discredited and dismissed by those in power, they become the embodiment of Philippians 4: 13 - "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496945235

Ed Gilkey

Ed Gilkey is a former school teacher and coach. He is a 1972 graduate of Randolph Macon College. He and his wife Debi, are the proud parents of 4 adult children. Ed taught US History for 35 years and during that period he was privileged to become the sponsor of the local chapter of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. This is his second work of fiction, the first being Deep Darkness (2009). Ed and Debi live in Doswell, Virginia.

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413

ED GILKEY

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2014 Ed Gilkey. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  10/14/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4522-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4523-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

KJV

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Epilogue

Chapter 1

10.54, 122.85. Just enough to win! Sarah grinned.

Yep, the old girl still has some giddy-up. This is kinda like it was back in ’62.

Back before you met Mom?

Way before I met your mom. Doc and me were still new to the sport back then. We were young back then but after ‘Nam there wasn’t much 2 disabled soldiers could do so we went racing. Doc kinda talked me into it but he didn’t have to do too much persuading. I used to go to the drags with my uncle- he'd sleep through ’em, but I was hooked.

Sleep through ’em? How could anyone sleep? she started to ask.

Oh, Uncle Pete worked hard all week and that was just his nap time I guess. JT looked in the mirror of the car hauler and started again.

Back in those days there wasn’t much ‘big money’ involved, so almost anybody could play.

Big money? Sarah yawned. You mean prize money?

"Well that and almost no one had full time sponsors. Or if they did, the sponsors were local car dealers.

Think of it this way, that 3400 pound ‘Stocker’ (he motioned over his shoulder) that’s following us home, could be bought at almost any Chevy dealership right off the showroom floor. You just took off the hubcaps, maybe put some bigger tires on the back, maybe discount the exhaust and go racing.

The factories, except General Motors, sponsored an elite group of cars and drivers and the competition was fierce. By the time we got back from overseas, Ford and Chrysler were the dominant names."

How about Dodge? Doc has a Dodge, Sarah asked as she stretched out on the truck’s seat.

Dodge and Plymouth were all part of Chrysler or Mopar. ‘Course Plymouth is dead now.

So that is a brief history of the ‘Muscle Car’, huh?

I hope I didn’t bore you, it’s just how we got started.

I’m not bored. I like the races, especially when we win. I ’m just tired,

We're almost to Greenston. There’s a great little diner there. Can I interest you in the best peach cobbler in the South?

Sure, but I really want a burger. Do they have good burgers?

The best. At least they used to. Give Doc and Rae a call on the CB and let'em know what we're doing, ok?

She nodded. Picking up the mike, she quickly got Rae on the radio.

Dad says we are going to stop at …

The Blue Crescent, J. Tom Mitchell quickly interjected.

The Blue Crescent, Sarah dutifully repeated.

10-4. Rae confirmed, having taken Doc’s nod as a go-ahead.

Doc smiled as his beautiful Asian bride of 33 years.

She smiled back at him and slid closer to him.

Life had been difficult when Doc brought Rae to the USA in 1968. Interracial marriage was seldom tolerated in the South and it wasn’t until that 1971 that the state of Virginia recognized their union as legal.

In Doc’s heart, Rae was still the beautiful frail Vietnamese girl that protected him and JT when they were cut off from their unit in Lon Chee in 1966. Doc still carried shrapnel in his back and JT had lost his left ear when the Viet Cong ambushed them. The attack, resulted in part of JT’s skull and left ear being blown off. Without Doc’s care, JT would have died. Unfortunately JT lost vision in his left eye as well. The eye was still there but visionless.

Doc wasn’t really a doctor. He was Rufus Antonio Kingsly. JT had named him Doc because Rufus Antonio had saved his life.

Rae was 14 when she found them in a drainage culvert that the VC had missed. Doc was bleeding from several wounds in his back but he was desperately trying to keep JT conscious.

Although she spoke little English, Rae was struck by Doc’s compassion which transcended all circumstances. Here was this dark skinned African American, indeed the first black American she had ever seen, fighting furiously to save JT’s life while Doc himself was seriously wounded.

When the VC surrounded Rae’s village they began interrogating everyone. She was watching, choking off her sobs, as her 6 year old sister and her 72 year old grandmother were raped. All of the village men were led into the jungle to work or fight for the VC.

She lay in shock with the two wounded Americans for 3 days, until an American chopper spotted the carnage of the village and the 3 survivors.

When the chopper hit the LZ (landing zone) Doc knew Rae wouldn’t be allowed to come aboard unless she appeared injured. He quickly draped her in his own blood soaked shirt and the 3 were airlifted to Da Nang.

Doc and JT were shipped to Hawaii soon thereafter but not before Doc had talked a friend into giving Rae shelter and a job. He returned for her a year later.

JT’s car carrier made the slow turn into the unpaved parking lot that was the Blue Crescent's. He made sure that there was plenty of space for Doc and Rae to park their carrier.

The D & J Racing team had been the byproduct D & J Auto Repair, Mountain Home, Virginia. Fast cars and what made them go faster had led to Doc’s idea how to race and maybe drum up business.

The matching car carriers bearing ‘nostalgia race cars’ had been good for business.

Originally campaigning matching Mustangs, they had chosen the name The Zebra Kids, which pointed to the racial make-up of the team. The black 1967 that J. Tom drove was set up to run as an equal to the white 1967 that Doc drove.

It was a novel idea but eventually they sensed (correctly) that the fans would much rather see the two old style ‘Super Stockers’ go head to head. After a long search, they put together 2 of drag racings legendary cars. JT campaigned a 1962 Chevrolet ‘409’ while Doc opted for a 1962 Dodge ‘413’.

Billed as being ‘originals’, they had taken great care to make the cars as equal as possible. The Chevy had a 4 speed manual transmission and dual 4 barrel carburetors. Doc’s 330 Dodge Dart came with the 3 speed pushbutton automatic ‘Torqueflyte’ transmission and dual 4 barrel mounted on a cross ram manifold.

They had conceived the ‘match racing’ plan while reading about the 1962 National Finals at Indianapolis.

The Super Stock final run that year had been Dodge vs. Chevy. Modern fans loved the concept.

To make the car as evenly matched as possible, Doc had located a set of Chevy Z-11 heads which gave JT a better chance versus the Dodge.

Even though, this was the summer of 2012, and most drag racing events were dominated by huge corporately sponsored teams, the D & J team was widely requested to appear in most of the NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) events, IHRA (International Hot Rod Association) events and scores of the ‘outlaw’ 1/8 mile tracks. The smaller tracks like Sumerduck, Colonial Beach and New London paid good appearance money and the cars didn’t have to work real hard, at those smaller venues.

The team had just run at Valdosta, Georgia and having cleared $2,500, they didn’t mind the 9 hour trek home.

Who’s paying for dinner tonight?called Doc as he and Rae descended from the cab of their 1962 Dodge car hauler. Doc’s hauler had a forlorn looking ‘Super Stock Dodge’ chained aboard. Having haulers that matched the year of the cars they hauled was one of Doc’s ideas. But sometimes driving those old trucks, produced when President Kennedy was in office, took a physical toll.

Same rules as always, JT chuckled, loser pays.

Rae and Sarah smiled. Rae slid her thin arm across Sarah’s 12 year old shoulders as they walked just behind the ‘Zebra kids'.

I almost had you in the traps, Doc declared.

Yeah, and the Cubs sometimes win too! countered JT.

Now that ain’t ’xactly fair, the Cubs will have their day and…

Doc, you know we won’t live to see it, declared JT.

Knowing that JT had a good point, Doc had no comeback.

They entered the Blue Crescent which had, at one time, been the pride and social center of Greenston.

The town barely had survived the economic calamities of the 1990’s when the mill had closed.

It still didn’t seem possible that it could be cheaper to send materials to Nepal to make the shirts that Greenston was known for, but for whatever reason, the mill had closed and with it all but the diner and the gas station.

Well, as I live and breathe, called Clara from behind the counter.

Max, come on out and see who just stumbled through our door!

Max Cissi, the one and only owner of the Blue Crescent, joined his wife greeting the guests.

We been buying the newspapers every day, Max began.

"Now Max, you know we aren’t that famous!" teased JT.

Famous, shamous- we been buying them to see if you all done passed away!

Now, Max, Clara attempted to reign in her husband but he continued.

You know it’s true, he said winking at his wife. Tell me I don’t check the obituaries every day. Why just the other day.. his voice trailed off as the 4 grinning faces caught his drift.

The foursome had their choice of booths and slid into the one closest to the window to survey their cars.

Clara took their orders while Max retreated to the kitchen.

As Rae and Sarah excused themselves to the restroom, Doc asked her to phone the Earls and check on Micah.

JT and Doc spoke briefly about business.

How much longer can we go with both cars? JT wondered aloud.

It’s not so much a matter of money as it is the wear and tear on me and finding enough parts, Doc threw in.

Doc’s health had been in decline since Vietnam, some of the shrapnel was too close to vital organs to be removed. He now grew easily fatigued and the more frequent coughing spells left him gasping for breath. He had become diabetic as well.

Both men were in their late 60’s and both knew the end of the racing gig was not far down the road.

The end of drag racing. The sideline that had enabled them to pay the bills when their repair /speed shop couldn't.

A year, maybe two, Doc guessed as he sipped on some of the best coffee he had ever tasted. He was about to compliment Clara when Rae returned alone from the restroom.

She appeared somewhat flustered.

Is Micah…? Doc ventured.

He’s fine and the Earls are insisting we take our time coming home, Rae supplied.

She blushed a little, then asked, Do either of you have a quarter?

Doc quickly produced one and she darted back to the ladies room.

Well, I’m glad she’s got Rae. I don’t exactly feel comfortable talking to Sarah about the change she’s going through.

Rae will take care of her, Doc said without hesitation. We just won’t mention it when they get back.

Several minutes later, a somewhat embarrassed young woman sat next to her dad.

Breaking the brief silence, Doc asked, Sarah, you did want the best burger in the south didn’t you?

Nodding, Sarah smiled sheepishly and blushed a little.

Well, dig in, the losers are paying, JT teased.

Rae squeezed her husband’s hand and he cleared his throat, AhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMMM.

Reluctantly, JT stopped eating and took the hand of his daughter and that of his partner.

Clara, Doc called out. Do you and Max have any concerns we can pray about, the business, friends? family?

Max and Clara joined the foursome. Max and Clara looked at each other.

Well if you could pray for the business- we are just getting by Max began.

Our son, Ronnie. He’s in Afghanistan, this is his third tour…we haven’t heard from him for 2 months, Clara began to tear up.

Clara and Max took the hands of Rae and Sarah as Doc prayed.

Doc asked God’s blessing on the food and the hands that prepared it, Ronnie in Afghanistan…

JT tilted his head away and looked at the TV set that was mounted on the nearby wall.

A baseball game was being shown inaudibly while news updates crawled across the bottom of the screen… 15 US soldiers killed in Afghan fighting…..Bowing to pressure from the LGBT community, US Supreme Court considers abolishing the age of consent…

Daddy! she protested.

The prayer had ended sometime while he was distracted and he hadn’t noticed.

Chapter 2

Get up you worthless…! Harold Roman shouted at Baron All.

You are costing us money every time you do this! Get out of that bed and pull your self together!

Roman looked down at what had been his ‘bread and butter’ client, now hopelessly hungover, strung out or both.

Wha? the rapper was trying to form words but his tongue was still tangled from last night’s surrender to chemicals.

Do you know that you have lost almost all your money fooling with dope and kids like that wench? Roman nodded toward the naked black girl now awake at Baron All’s side. The girl appeared to be at most 16.

You gonna get all us locked up messin with underage girls- have you totally lost your mind?

Walking quickly to the opposite side of the room, Roman filled a pitcher with water and strode back to the still semi-conscious rap king.

As the girl hid her face under the covers, Roman threw the water into his client’s still scrambled face. He then hurled the pitcher at the opposite wall.

That demonstration caused the girl to quickly exit the bed, gathering her clothes and attempting to cover her nakedness as she fled to the bathroom.

I’ll give you 30 minutes to get it all together or I’ll whoop you-you dig?

Baron All (aka Horace Melvin Jenkins), finally coming to, nodded as Roman stormed out of the room.

Roman pulled out his cell phone and placed a quick call.

Look, I know he’s behind schedule. He’s had some bad…

Without being put on speaker phone, the voice on the other end SCREAMED,

NOTHING NEW IN 2 WEEKS- HE'S DONE-FINISHED-NO NEW CONTRACT-NO TOURS. NO MORE MONEY FROM MTV! TELL THAT SEXAHAULIC HE'D BETTER DO SOMETHING ’BOUT CHEVONNE. MY PEOPLE TELL ME SHE'S TRYING TO RAT TO THE MAN. YOU GOT IT?

Yes sir, I … there was no reason to finish the sentence, MERCER was gone.

Roman stretched his 6'6" frame and plopped down on the $12,000 Bolivian goat skin sofa to wait for Baron All.

The bedroom door creaked slowly open as the hastily dressed girl emerged. She was very light skinned and quite attractive. She was also VERY young.

Girl, how old are you? Roman fired.

14, she softly answered.

Roman winced. Whatcha doin here?

Are you for real? That’s Baron All in there. All us think he’s the bes'.

Listen, he mighta been the best but right now he’s a loser. I need you to get a taxi home, he said handing her a $50 bill.

You do know how to get a taxi don’t you?

She nodded.

You also need to forget everything that happened here last night and this morning, he said menacingly as he pulled out a switchblade and threw it at her, missing by just inches.

The 14 year old girl, now possibly an expectant mother, flew out the penthouse.

25 minutes later, a barely coherent Horace Melvin Jenkins, formerly of no fixed address, rap music titan, stumbled into the room.

Wha?

Before he could begin, Roman grabbed him the collar and slammed him against the wall.

Listen fool, what that girl doin here? You know she supposed to been gone! Don’t you think? EVER? You don’t get to sample the shipments! We is paid to send untouched items!

Oh, that one been touched. Don’t you worry ’bout dat, the rapper began, attempting to get out of Roman’s grasp.

Retightening his grip, Roman bounced his client’s head against the wall again.

That girl is the least of your worries. We ’bout to be broke- cause you party too much.

Forcing Baron All to turn his head, he asked, you can read, can’t you?

On the big white board adjacent to the couch, Roman had penned:

WHAT YOU GOT: $34,000.

WHAT YOU OWE: $2,678,563.28

Which number be bigger? demanded Roman.

Before he had a chance to answer, Roman pointed to the bottom of the board where he had written in letters that were larger still:

IF CHEVONNE TALK IT ALL BE GONE.

Struggling to free himself from his agent, the Baron, newly jarred awake, finally seemed to be coming to his senses.

She here now? Roman jabbed.

How I supposed to know dat-this a big place, I ain’t see or hear her or the boy for 2 maybe 3 days.

The penthouse was huge, it’s 6000 square feet ranking it among the largest in the city. Yet Roman had trouble believing that Baron All could be so detached.

Finally breaking free, Baron All offered:

‘I just wants to know

how does you know

Dat she gonna rat

An lose somthin so phat?

Roman winced at the feeble rap that BA had constructed.

The street say she gonna leave you for FATFIST.

Jus’ cause he showed some interest in the kid?

Baron All was referring to the MTV-BET Rap Off 6 months ago. The goal of the event was to eliminate the competition by getting your opponent to blink (or get so emotionally charged that he would lose his temper-therefore break his rap). All the nationally acclaimed icons were there and not a few wannabes. Baron All had bested them all and now he was replaying that day in his head. ‘I done beat Ran Cid, Post Nasal, and Dog Do’ before destroying his arch nemesis, FATFIST. The truth was however, that FATFIST had refused to insult Chevonne’s down syndrome child and for that glaring display of respect, the judges declared Baron All the winner.

At press conference following the contest, Chevonne had joined her husband in taunting FATFIST.

"My man de best,

He done showed de rest.

Now here sumpin I been wanting to get off my chest.

The fat boy cain’t hang and dat’s a shame.

In dis here game,

Don’t bring yo fat

unless you understand dat."

The adoring press corps quickly compared them to John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Even country music fans could relate. They were hailed as another incarnation of Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. The sale of FATFIST CD’s tumbled dramatically and Baron ALL proclaimed himself to be THE NAME ABOVE ALL NAMES.

Baron All reflected on the scene.The woman love me, avowed Horace Melvin Jenkins. Dey all do.

Roman was getting shorter tempered, if that was possible.

You don’t think for one minute that all your money comes from your pathetic ability to rhyme words do you? You know and she knows the music is just cover for the TRICKSTER jag. Look we gets up to $40,000 a shipment-depends on the goods and the buyer.

(TRICKSTER was coordinated locally but had global clientele. The shipments were young boys and girls -usually 10-14 years old that were in demand by the global porn syndicate, sexual deviancy clubs or the Arab emir wanting to stock his harem.)

The tone of Roman’s words had finally impressed BA. Still the reality dose was hard to take.

Roman continued, You got 2 problems. One, you has to do new stuff- that makes it look like you making big money- the IRS and the Feds get to snoopin’ and can’t figure where you be makin all this money, WE got trouble.

Baron All interjected, What do you mean? followed quickly by:

"I’m Baron All you see,

And when I go on a rappin spree,

There ain’t nobody what can be

Stoppin me"

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," Roman moaned, looked at the ceiling, hoping for relief. "Now look, you gotta get her gone permanent."

You mean kill her?

Whatever it takes. She be your problem #2

How ’bout the kid?

What about the kid? How many more you got? What’s one more dead kid?

Those words temporarily froze Horace Jenkins in thought.

Chevonne had been his main girl for the first year and a half of his meteoric career. She had been on stage with him when he won his 2 Grammy awards. She helped prop him up when he was enshrined in the Black Entertainers Hall of Fame.

They had made 2 children together. The first child, a little girl, Sharone, had died suddenly in her own crib. Their second child, the namesake that Baron All had hoped for was now 2 1/2 years old. This child, the long awaited son, MegaStar, had Down Syndrome.

He mused about the children he had made with 6 or 8 other hook ups but the thought of a double murder…. Chevonne was still as beautiful as she had always been. But motherhood had increased her weight, at least it seemed so. Still if the word on the street was that she was gonna run to FATFIST…. He couldn’t allow that.

Not the kid. I jus’ can’t do the kid.

Why not? You gonna raise the kid? Hell No. You just being stupid."

Look maybe I just pay her more or send her on some long trip ’til..

"UNTIL? Until what? Until she blows the whistle on you? You just don’t get it do you?

SHE KNOW EVERYTHING. She can destroy us…er,..you with one phone call or one press conference. People like her. She attracts attention wherever she be. She was the woman who stuck by your sorry hide while you was in drug rehab…"

The litany of truisms got Baron All to reflect. Roman had always hated her and she had tried to steer her man away from Roman. He’s bad for you, he’s riding your back- he ain’t what he claim- her words floated back to him.

People will listen to her if she gets the chance to talk. You gotta make ’em gone, Roman stated as calmly as if he was reading a sports score.

How?

Try this- use some of yo pills, kill ’em and dump ’em somewhere. When it’s done you slide to Jamaica for a while to do new material. MERCER DEMAND IT NOW

Baron All, was trying to piece together a plan when Roman offered,

Why not blame FATFIST-say he took her. Then write a rap story ’bout your dear departed wife, Roman added mockingly.

You gotta do somethin’ or all dis be gone."

The Baron studied the opulent surroundings and then in voice barely audible, said: Leave me be, I get it done.

Done, jus’ remember you has less than 2 weeks… or the ride is over. With that Roman left.

Four seconds later, Baron All never a very brave man, hurled a $4000 lamp at the door, smashing it into thousands of pieces.

I’ll show ’em. All ’em.

Chapter 3

How much? balked Klok.

Ok, 25 large and be happy you getting anything!

And a car?

"Take