Crime & Passion 2: A Brush with Death
Author
Valerie J. Clarizio
Reads
25,7K
Chapters
13
In a small town filled with secrets, Ben, a street sweeper driver, becomes an unexpected witness to the dark underbelly of his community. As he navigates his daily route, he uncovers affairs, hidden motives, and a series of violent crimes that shake the town to its core. When a body is discovered and the police investigation intensifies, Ben finds himself entangled in a web of danger and deceit. With the help of Cori, a woman he deeply cares for, Ben must confront the town's sinister secrets before they consume him.
Chapter One
Book 2: A Brush with Death
The blow to Scarlettâs cheek came fast and hard. It stung and disoriented her, but not so much that she didnât lose all her sense. She spun to run. Steel fingers dug into her arm and swung her around. The next blow to the side of her head came with a loud crunch. Was that her neck? Her flaming cheek cooled from the tile floor. She couldnât see. Fear saturated her. Her pulse raced. She knew she needed to get upâflee, but her arms and legs wouldnât work. The stench of death coated her nostrils. A low-tone, vehicular hum sounded at a distance. It began to fade along with her pounding pulse. Hmm, thumpâŠhmm, thumpâŠhmm, thumpâŠhmm, thumpâŠ
Ben moved along Sixth Avenue at a crawl. This new street sweeper, just like the old one, swept at about six miles per hour. No doubt in his twenty-two years working for the Department of Public Works, street sweeping was the most laidback position heâd held. But, all those years participating in sports had played havoc on his knees, and this was the best job for him.
The position did have its perks though. He was the eyes of the city. Driving around day after day clued him in to all the dirty little secrets of the rich, the poor, and the in-between. Being the only street sweeper driver, the whole city was his route, and after years on the job, he knew everyoneâs habits. Who went to the gym before work, who went to breakfast and where, who walked their dog.
Ben paused and smiled as he caught a glimpse of Jessica Benoit slipping out of her loverâs back door. She jogged through Brianâs yard, over the alley, into her yard, and then through the back door of her houseâthe home she shared with her husband, Mike. Poor bastard probably didnât have a clue this had been going on every Tuesday night for the past year or so. Like clockwork. The woman must set her alarm to ensure sheâd beat her husband home. Mike worked third shift at the shipyard six blocks away.
Since it was beginning to get fairly light out earlier in the mornings, Ben assumed Jessica would soon be adjusting her alarm for a sooner hour. Or, maybe she didnât care who saw her slink out of her loverâs house and into her own.
Ben shook his head. Heâd often thought he should write a book about all the stuff he observed as he drove the sweeper around town. All the secret rendezvous. On second thought, he imagined the money he could make for his silence, especially from the more well-to-do.
Hmm, blackmail.
He arched his brow and chuckled out loud. Divorces would be more costly to those folks than paying him for his silence. Ha, if only he could do something like that, but he never could.
Ben wheeled the sweeper around the corner. Now that daylight had broken, his day would be less eventful, in terms of shenanigans anyhow.
Daybreak, his indication it was time to make his way back to the shop for the mandatory monthly meeting scheduled for seven oâclock, the time most of the public works employees began work. Though he kind of missed going to work at that time, it was nice working the four to noon shift. Leaving that early gave him a large chunk of the core day to get things done, and since he wasnât a spring chicken anymore, it didnât put a damper on his nightlife. He sighed. What nightlife? He hadnât had one of those in years.
He parked the sweeper and entered the shop through the back service door. Five coworkers were tucked in the corner playing cards. Bud, with his mouth full of chew, verbally beat down Don for the stupid card heâd just played. Ben shook his head, some things never change, but still, he missed playing the game. Since heâd taken the street sweeper position, he came in too early to play. The card-playing gang came in about one hour before their shift started, which was two hours after his day began.
A brush of cool air washed over him. He shivered, then turned to find his boss had stepped through the doorway behind him with two large, white bakery boxes in his hands. Though Director Mueller was small in stature, he was gruff, and generally didnât take shit from anybody. But, he was also that boss, the one whoâd stand behind an employee he believed in when push came to shove. He was the perfect kind of guy for running this gravelly crew.
The man walked over to the mechanicâs workbench and plopped the boxes down. The cardboard had hardly hit the surface before the mob dug in. It was always a race for the chocolate custard-filled donuts. Ben held back, he didnât like custard. He was more of an apple fritter kind of guy.
Ben stood with his coworkers wolfing down their pastries as their boss ran down his list of announcements. First was the standard reminder to wear safety glasses and earplugs. Why did he even say that anymore? Those two items were as common as putting on pants.
âI wouldnât have mentioned it, except for the fact the safety inspector was here last week and noticed someone, who will remain nameless, wasnât wearing his safety glasses out in the field,â Director Mueller said as his gaze landed on Glen.
Guilty party.
âI canât tell you enough about how important safety equipment is for both you and the city.â
Mueller held up a wad of dog-eared papers bound together by a large binder clip. âAs you already know, this is the Department of Public Works Employee Manual. In here it states you will wear safety glasses. You all signed a form stating you read this. The next person caught without safety glasses will be subject to discipline. Weâre done fooling around with this.â
Oh, oh, Mueller must have gotten his ass chewed by Administrator Johnston.
Glenâs gaze was glued to the floor. Feeling bad, he got his boss in trouble?
After five more minutes of routine announcements, Mueller deemed the meeting over.
Clyde Bauldry nudged Benâs shoulder. âSo, did you catch Jessica doing the backyard shuffle this morning?â the man asked with a crooked, sly grin.
Though Clyde smiled, his dark, hard gaze told another story, as if Jessicaâs affair bothered him. But why? What did he care about her or her husband? As far as Ben knew, they werenât related or even friends.
The tall, burly man tapped his toe. Waiting impatiently for a response, he presumed. âJust like clockwork,â Ben replied.
A forced chuckle escaped Clydeâs cracked, dry-looking lips. âYou should write a book about the shit you see. If the book doesnât sell, you could always make money blackmailing the guilty parties.â
Interesting. His very thought. âI know, right.â
Ben wasnât the only one who knew the dirty business of the residents of their small town. His sightings were the topic of conversations during lunch break. The guys were all ears when he spoke of the early morning shenanigans he witnessed. But, there were a couple he kept to himselfâthose that had to do with his coworkers. Clydeâs sister, Julie, for example, married to the cityâs best, and most highly priced, litigator. Julie had been messing around on William for years. Lonesome, Ben supposed. William kept long office hours leaving his wife home alone at night with the kids. That was until they became empty nestersâthen she was just alone. That was about the time she started sneaking off to warm Spike Callihanâs bed. A manâbad boyâat least ten years her junior. Built like an Olympic wrestler. Looks of Adonis. Every manâs nightmare when near their wives or girlfriends.
On the flipside, Williamâs long office hours werenât always spent working cases. He worked over District Attorney Stacy Kennedy often enough. Those two really should remember to pull the window shades completely down. Just because the windows of Williamâs office faced a desolate street didnât mean they shouldnât be cautious. Unless they didnât care that anyone noticed.
Ben often wondered why Julie and William didnât divorce. Perhaps she liked the lifestyle he provided, and maybe he didnât want to part with fifty percent of his assets. Finance was the obvious reason.
William would be the perfect person to blackmail. A divorce would be bad for his pocketbook and his reputation.
There were so many possibilities in this town full of cheaters.
