Sandusky reckoning, p.29
Sandusky Reckoning, page 29
I walked around to the front, paranoid she may have found a way out. There was no sign of it, just the bright oranges and reds of flames through the glass door and windows.
The train horn sounded in the distance. My thoughts returned to that night less than a week ago, when they rigged the train to destroy the Taj. I saw the RV launch with my own two eyes. Men were trapped inside in agony as a train dragged them along in a metal box. But men who deserved it, no doubt.
Opening the door of her vehicle, I saw the keys dangling from the ignition. I could be out of there with all the evidence. Everyone was gone. Nobody would know my role in all this madness.
Except Vaughn knew. But what did he have on me? My word against his.
Climbing into the SUV, I closed the door, adjusting the seat back. My hands gripped the steering wheel. There was a pink backpack on the passenger seat. I leaned over and unzipped it. It was stuffed to the top with stacks of money.
Pulling one out, I thumbed through the bills. All twenties. There was enough money here to get me far away from Sandusky.
The sounds of sirens began as fire trucks were racing down Columbus Road. The fire department was returning, just a few blocks from the trailer they extinguished a few hours ago. Grandma’s trailer.
The sirens grew louder. My fingers grasped the keyring. All I had to do was rotate it clockwise and drive away.
All these people died over the past week, and only I was left. Randy. Sam. Viktor. Alexander. Grigore. Anka. Daniela. Chris. Chuck. The Holderbaums. Brady. Grandma. Deputy O’Toole would probably be dead soon. All were zero degrees of separation from me. And here I was, almost unscathed.
The first fire truck turned the corner, followed closely by a squad car. My tears began again, then they turned into sobs. I removed the keys from the ignition and dropped them on the floorboard. I grasped the steering wheel again, then put my head down in my hands as I continued to sob.
The train passed, overshadowed by the chaos of the sirens and the crackling flames.
Epilogue
Tuesday, July 7
Vaughn 10
12:55 a.m.
Shutting down a campground is a lot of work. I was asked to stay on and offered a couple extra bucks an hour, so I did. The campground was in an emergency receivership, which meant the court appointed someone to take over the operation.
Travis was ordered to shut down Sandusky Shores by the DA, in coordination with the FBI. Many of the campers were on their way out after the Holderbaum RV burned, but when the press got a hold of the story about the criminal things happenin’ there, nobody wanted to stay around.
All the campers had to be out by July 10. There was maybe a dozen left. There was more trash than ever with people cleaning their RVs out, and we had the dumpsters emptied once a day instead of once a week.
There were a couple of contract guys brought in to help me, since I was the only maintenance guy left on staff. Data and Patrick were in jail. Data violated his probation by using computers plus confessed to other crimes while working for Gorey and the Romanians. Patrick was arrested for arson and murder for burning the Holderbaums’ trailer.
The Sandusky morgue had more business than ever. The Holderbaums, Deputy O’Toole, Data’s grandma, the four Romanians, Chuck, Chris, Sam, Randy, Clemmons, and Brady all passed through there. Fourteen people within a week, dear Lord. Some of those deaths were more tragic than others.
The Coast Guard found Alexander Stoica’s dead body on Gorey’s burned yacht. Did Brady settle that score? No one would ever know what really happened.
I had a number of sleepless nights about it all. Could I have done something to prevent any of that? I had gotten involved, but just barely. If I partnered more with Brady, could I have saved lives? Or would I have been laying in that morgue myself? I tended to think I would have been shot and burned in that post office along with Brady.
Gravity Junction was taking a lot of heat. It was temporarily closed while they were being investigated. A bunch of known criminals were brought over from Romania to work at their supposedly kid-friendly park, and they had wrecked the area. Some heads were gonna have to roll.
A gray SUV pulled into the lot. Security was actually an important job now. The true-crime groupies and press could not be allowed on site. As it approached, I recognized it; that was Marcy Sullivan’s SUV. She pulled up slowly to the booth.
“Hi. Marcy Sullivan, site 31. I need to settle up my bill,” she said nervously. The booth was still damaged from when she swiped it, while nearly swiping me.
She was an attractive lady, dark-brown hair pulled back, brown eyes. She looked very tired, dark shadows beneath her eyes.
“Sir, my deepest apologies for my behavior the other day. I ... I was out of control. If you were injured in any way ...” she said, her voice shaking.
I took a step closer to her SUV, taking my hat off and wiping my hand across my forehead. I struggled to find words; I never anticipated crossing paths with this woman again.
“Mrs. Sullivan, it’s okay. Given all of the tragedy that happened to you, I wouldn’t give it a minute’s thought again. I’m fine,” I said.
She nodded. “Did you know Brady?” she asked.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we were friendly. He was having a lot of issues that last week, and I tried to help him. Obviously, I failed, because ...” I drifted off. I felt I had to choose my words very carefully.
“So much of this I don’t understand. How people were trying to kill him. How the police think he killed others. That is not the man I knew. The pictures sent of him with a woman, the woman in his RV ...” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
I knelt beside the vehicle, which put my face at about her eye level. I inhaled deeply, wondering if I was about to make a big mistake. “I wasn’t in deep like him. But there were some bad people who tried to harm him. They set him up. He was never with any women. They drugged him and staged that photo. That woman sleeping in your crib was the girlfriend of the guy who killed himself by drivin’ into the train. She was damaged and drunk, and Brady showed her kindness,” I said.
She removed a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was buying my story.
“How did he ever cross these bad people?” she asked softly.
“They saw a guy they could victimize, Brady out at the campground struggling without a family. They found out about his government job and wanted him to steal secrets. He fought back, but they kept coming after him.”
“This Data guy, Henry Hallux. Whose side was he on? Did he cause Brady’s death?” she asked.
“It is more complicated than that. He worked against Brady, but at the end, he came clean. He turned over all the evidence and money when he could have gotten away. For what it’s worth, he did the right thing at the end. He didn’t get away unscathed; he lost his grandma and his freedom,” I said.
Marcy looked over at the office, then back at me. “I have a million questions. There are two kids without a father at home who are devastated, and I can’t honestly explain to them what happened to their father. Brady had life insurance, so we’ll be okay financially for a while. I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
“Vaughn. Vaughn Washington,” I said.
“Vaughn, there are people in our lives that didn’t even know Brady was living in Sandusky. His death was a complete shock to everyone. He was a rational, likeable guy, he had a reputation as a family man. He was a great father. But then that picture was sent out,” she said, drifting off. She wiped her eyes with a tissue again.
I decided to say nothing further. Nothing could make this better for her, although I hoped my comments about the prostitution picture and Candy eased her pain a little.
“Thank you, Vaughn. I appreciate your time. I have to go by the police station and make a statement.”
“Best wishes to you and the family. I’m here for a few more days if ...” I said, unable to finish the sentence.
“I appreciate that. Then what?” she asked.
The train horn sounded and the ground shook as it approached. Before a few days ago, it had just been background noise, an irritation. Now it was legit disturbing. That train was a force of nature that desperate and troubled people had weaponized for murder and suicide. I couldn’t wait to get far away from those train tracks.
“I’m going back to pick up where I left off. I lost my way the past few years. Working here, living there,” I said, gesturing toward Cloverleaf. “That was no kind of life for me. It wasn’t the life I was meant to live.”
Acknowledgments
And so ends Brady Sullivan’s tumultuous summer vacation as a bachelor at the Sandusky Shores Campground! A family man who watched his life unravel over the course of a few days due to a combination of bad luck and poor decisions.
It was tempting to continue the series, because I feel so comfortable with the characters and the setting. That sense of comfort was exactly why I knew I had to let the series die. I have many other writing projects across different genres that I want to develop, and I felt that continuing the series was self-limiting.
Sandusky Darkness will always be very special because it was my first foray into authoring. In addition, there were many personal elements encompassed within the story, as the setting is a place I have resided throughout the summer for the past seven years. Of course, the real version is very pleasant and benign (at least I believe it to be so), without a criminal element preying on the campers!
I’m so grateful to all who have supported my writing! A special thanks to the unexpected supporters. General acquaintances who enthusiastically read my book. Strangers who connected to the story and took the time to review it. Entertaining these people is what it is all about...
He’s desperate to come back home. But a sinister crime lord will stop at nothing to keep him wrapped in a corrupt spider’s web...
Will this former soldier stand up to evil, no matter the sacrifice?
Buy Sandusky Burning Here!
Bryan W. Conway was born and raised in Flint, Michigan. He has been an author, soldier, factory worker, lawyer, project manager, and personal fitness trainer. His hobbies include writing, reading, fitness, scuba diving, and chess. He currently resides in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio.
For more information, please visit:
www.bryanwconwayauthor.com
Bryan W. Conway, Sandusky Reckoning
