Outskirts Press, INC.

A PROMISING FUTURESA SORDID PASTS WHICH WILL SURVIVE THE PRESENT?

For many years, Frank James existed on a steady diet of hard drugs and low self-esteem. Nearly three years ago, on a beach in south Florida, he experienced a horror that allowed him to make a decision to alter his direction in life. Now, after intensive therapy, a great deal of soul searching and the help of a no-nonsense Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor, Frank is approaching his third year clean and sober. With his confidence and self-respect restored, Frank is celebrating this monumental occasion with the opening of a new business and the hope of rekindling a romance with his one true love.

Unfortunately for Frank, his new way of life was about to be put to the ultimate test. As a series of grizzly murders begin to unfold in and around Knoxville, all clues seem to lead right to our man of the hour. Facing an ignorant county detective just itching to send him to the gas chamber for a previous run-in where he believes he was made the fool by James, Frank is forced towork on his own behalf to clear his name. As the death toll begins to rise, it becomes apparent to Frank that no one close to him is safe. Frank James is forced to dig deep into a past that he has tried to lay to rest in order to put an end to the murder and mayhem endangering all things dear to him. The answers he uncovers lead him back to that fateful night on the beach in south Florida. He would have to face his demons once and for all if he were to have any hope of peace. Demons that would attempt to destroy his serenity, his sanity, his sobriety and make Frank James pay the ultimate price for his transgressions.

Page 1

Prologue

June 17, 2003



Beneath a hauntingly luminous moon, Miguel Escobar collapsed on the beach as his only brother, Diego, bleeding unmercifully from a single gunshot wound to his chest , was clinging to life by a single thread. His torso violently heaving. His lungs burning as the last bit of his breath was seeping into the balmy Florida air. A wave of crimson broke out from beneath his once powerful body, turning the white sand beach into a hellish vision that would haunt Miguel for the rest of his days.

With tears streaming down his face and rage building in his heart, Miguel held his brother with all his might. “Everything will be alright. I’m here to take care of you.”

Diego stared up at Miguel, his eyes glazing over, unable to say a word. The two brothers pledging devotion to one another in absolute silence.

As the sound of a police siren corrupted the serenity of the waves rolling onto the shore, Diego’s body had one last violent tremor before becoming totally still. Miguel screamed at the top of his lungs, vowing to avenge his brother’s death. Page 2

A Pompano Beach police officer arrived on the scene to find one man shot down in cold blood and another, similar looking man, staring straight into space as he cradled the victim in his arms. His body rocking back and forth at a feverish pace.

Detective Cerniglia was the first to arrive on the scene. He approached the two men with his 9mm drawn, announcing himself as Pompano Beach Police, cautiously closing the gap between the two men and himself.

“Put your hands on top of your head and slowly get up out of the sand,” Cerniglia shouted. There was no response. There was no doubt the man holding the victim was in shock. Cerniglia maintained a safe distance as he waited for backup from both the Pompano Beach Police, as well as the Broward County Sheriff’s Department.

He scanned the perimeter of the beach looking for prospective witnesses, weapons and possible perpetrators. The beach seemed deserted. Unusual for this area. The pier at Pompano Beach was normally thriving with groupies following their favorite local bands blasting out guitar rifts and drum solos well into the early morning hours. Not to mention the tourists looking for that romantic moonlight stroll with their loved one. Perhaps just a loved one for that night.

Page 3 Locals seemed to thrive on young college girls looking for that harmless summer fling. Cerniglia laughed at that thought. Those poor girls usually only found an empty bed in the morning. Maybe a missing wallet. They were the lucky ones. Some ended up with the clap or the nine month blues.

Detective Cerniglia froze. Was that movement under the pier? He wanted to check it out, but he could not leave these two here on the beach unattended. Frustrated, he stayed put waiting for backup.

Finally, the quiet was broken by what must have been dozens of sirens, as the reinforcements stormed the beach. The once beautiful moonlit beach now resembled the latest nightclub on the Lauderdale Strip. The strobes of blue lights from the police cruisers, mixing with the spotlights used by the patrolmen to search the area, rivaled the hottest dance floors out there.

After a bit of a struggle, officers finally were able to separate the two men on the beach. Cerniglia put his fingers to the neck of the wounded man feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He wouldn’t be able to shed any light on the scene.

The detective approached the other man. He could see the similarity in their faces. He took the wallet from the man’s shorts and found out his name was Miguel Escobar. Upon retrieving the stiff’s wallet, his hunch was validated. The

Page 4 dead man’s name was Diego Escobar. Immediately Cerniglia wondered if these two were the sons of Hector Escobar, leader of the main drug cartel in Miami.

Cerniglia approached the still living Escobar. “What happened here?”

No answer.

“We’re gonna have to assume that you killed your brother unless you can tell us otherwise.”

Still no response. This guy had lost it. Cerniglia’s gut told him that someone else was involved. With no weapon, no clues and a zombie as the only witness, he could see this investigation was pretty much dead in the water.

The County Coroner loaded up Diego’s body and headed off for the morgue. Two patrolmen placed Miguel Escobar into the back seat of a Broward County cruiser. He had not uttered a single word since Cerniglia arrived at the scene. No doubt he would end up at the Broward County Psych Center after a trip to the station.

The night returned full circle for Cerniglia as he was alone on the beach once again. He surveyed the beach one last time. There were many questions left unanswered this night. There was, however, one indisputable fact… Miguel Escobar would never be the same.

Page 5

Chapter 1

May 24, 2006



Frank James found himself trapped once again. His head soaking wet with sweat. He could feel the pools of perspiration collecting under his armpits, leaving huge stains on his favorite Tennessee Vols t-shirt. It had to be his favorite, he’d been wearing it for three days. It was beginning to feel like a second skin.

All of the blinds were closed tightly throughout the house. That didn’t seem to matter though. Frank would check them continuously over the next thirty minutes. He had already resorted to tacking up blankets over the sliding glass doors that led to a slab of concrete he called a patio. Paranoia had set in. It always did when he was high. He had an uncanny knack of being able to hear things that weren’t there. Peeping through the peep-hole in the front door, he quickly turned an empty coke can on the front lawn into a swat vehicle packed full of snipers just waiting for the Captain’s orders to storm this little one bedroom shit-hole he called home.

Frank glanced over at the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Chunks of broken glass, burnt up copper chore, half a dozen lighters, most of

Page 6 which were empty, were scattered all over the table. Everything a mess. Then he saw his prize. He still had three large rocks left. There were ten when he started on this tangent. He’d been at it for three days now.

Fucking crack, he thought. Maybe this would be the day his heart gave out. Although, after years of smoking this evil drug, he seemed to be unable to die. Oh, but how he wished he would have so many times before.

After peeping out the front blinds one last time, Frank hurried over to his futon. He sat down, grabbed his stem and placed a huge boulder on top of the copper. He leaned back, exhaled deeply, sparked up his trusty Bic lighter and brought it to the end of his pipe. The instant popping sound the flame made when it came in contact with the crack sent waves of anticipation through Frank’s body. In just a few seconds he would be hearing bells ringing. He inhaled. Slowly at first. Continuing until he was sucking so hard you’d think he was trying to siphon a cantaloupe through a garden hose. The vile smoke filled the chamber of his pipe. He could feel the smoke invading his mouth. His throat. Deep into his lungs. He closed his eyes, preparing for blast off. Just as the rush of his high was coming on full force, the room erupted with an amazingly loud buzzing sound. Was this the end? Was the Blount County Sheriff’s Department going to break

Page 7 down the door and put Frank James away for years to come?

The buzzing continued…Frank was stuck. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t hide. He just sat there until…wham…Frank jumped up off his pillow in a cold sweat. Disoriented. Holding his breath. Finally reaching over and shutting off his alarm clock. He had been dreaming.

Exhaling and wiping the sweat from his brow, James sat in amazement. Next month would be three years that he was clean and sober. Yet, he was still haunted by these nightmares. Drug dreams. That’s what they called them at the rehab in Buffalo Valley. He wondered if they would ever stop.