STYLIST: A Psycho-Sexual Thriller Read online

  He grabbed a snub-nosed Colt .38 Detective Special from atop his nightstand. He opened and closed the cylinder to make sure it was loaded, stuffed the weapon into his right front pocket and ran down the stairs. He didn’t bother to grab any handcuffs.

  Damn! Cell phone!

  He’d left it on his dresser, connected to the charger. Running back up the stairs and into the bedroom, he yanked the cord free and pushed the phone into his right rear pocket.

  Turn it on in the car.

  Down the stairway again he ran. He opened the front door of his home and sprinted out into a blinding thunderstorm. Hailstones and rain stung his face and bare arms. He couldn’t believe how far the temperature had dropped. It had to be in the thirties.

  He pulled on the car door handle. It was locked. He reached into his jeans pockets.

  Keys! Goddammit!

  In his haste to get out of the house he’d left them on the dining room table and forgotten them. Terryfield ran back inside and picked up the car keys from the table. Then he was out the door again, into the thunder, lightning, hail, rain and cold wet misery.

  He got the engine started, jammed the gearshift into reverse and backed out of his driveway. The tires squealed as he floored the accelerator on his Honda Accord. He reached into his back pocket to retrieve the phone. He keyed in 9-1-1 and waited impatiently for the emergency dispatcher to answer.

  “9-1-1 emergency. What is the location of your emergency?”

  “This is Detective Terryfield with the sheriff’s office. I’m enroute to Sonia Lovello’s home. She lives at 6567 River View Drive. She’s a witness in the Emma Saunders murder case. Start me a marked backup unit.”

  “What’s the nature of your emergency, detective?”

  “I don’t know, yet. She paged me a few minutes ago and now she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Okay. We’ll get someone on the way as soon as we can. At the moment everyone’s tied up because of the storm.”

  “Okay. Try to break someone free.”

  “As soon as I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  Terryfield disconnected the call and drove through the blinding hailstorm. His windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the ice pellets and water that poured down from the sky. He couldn’t see the lines on the road. The naked patches of streets which hadn’t been covered with hail looked like black mirrors. Storm drains were backing up. Flooding of side streets had begun. Sky-to-ground lightning bolts flashed relentlessly and the thunder rolled. It was as if a war had been declared from the heavens above and this was the opening fusillade of artillery fire.

  Ten minutes later he stopped his car three houses away from Sonia’s place and turned off the engine. He opened the driver’s door and stepped out into freezing cold wetness. The night was pitch black. There no street lights. He ran down the sidewalk to her home and stopped at the front entry, breathing heavily through his mouth.

  Don’t knock. If he’s in there he’ll know it’s you.

  Terryfield pressed his ear against the door and listened. He heard nothing from within. He ran to his right across the front lawn and found the gate that granted access to the rear of the place standing wide open. He pulled the .38 Special from his jeans pocket and slowly walked into the back yard.

  A huge lightning bolt blinded him. The thunder that followed was deafening. He waited a moment for his vision to adjust and continued, dropping into a half crouch. The downpour increased in its intensity. He held the revolver in a two-handed close combat grip, at the ready-gun position, pointed straight ahead and slightly downward. He stepped up onto a covered concrete patio and suddenly found himself at Sonia’s back door. It was open. There was nothing but darkness inside the dining room. He was soaking wet. Using his left forearm, he wiped the rain water from his eyes and his forehead.

  With no flashlight and no backup officer to assist him, Terryfield stepped into the darkness. His adrenal glands had gone into high gear. His guts were shaking in fight or flight mode. His heart pumped in his throat. He could hardly take a breath. He looked left and right. He couldn’t see a thing. The lighting had confused his eyes.

  Another huge bolt flashed, back-lighting him just inside the doorway. At that instant he saw a naked Tim Travisec standing before him, raising a gun he held in his right hand. Crouching deeper, Terryfield jerked his revolver upward at his target. With a scant six feet separating them, they stood facing each other for not even a split second that was actually an eternity.

  And they fired their weapons.

  37

  Sonia

  The stylist walked here often these days, usually very early in the mornings. At sunrise, there was always peace, tranquility, and comfort to be savored in this place. She didn’t mind the chill of dawn.

  She strolled on narrow dirt and gravel paths that wound their ways through pleasant green patches of thick, rich grass. At mid-day, tall trees provided shade in places along the way, giving weary walkers places to rest and cool off during the heat of summer.

  It was a spot where she could contemplate and sort things out. Sometimes she needed a quiet time to regenerate her emotions - in preparation for the hours she knew she would soon be spending in her salon. Listening to her clients pour their hearts out did make her weary from time to time. Nonetheless, she never ran short of sympathy or thoughtful advice.

  Her clients loved her and trusted her.

  Sonia Lovello was that kind of woman.

  Carrying a long-stemmed red rose in her right hand, she came to the place where she always stopped. Once a week she took this walk, without failing. She knelt and placed the rose atop a flat headstone. Through her tears she read it now, as she had read it so many times before this day.

  MILES JAMES TERRYFIELD

  1965-2017

  “Greater love hath no man than this,

  that a man lay down his life…”

  38

  Wellie

  “So, Wellie. I think we got your hair just as you like it. So now how’s life treating you?”

  “Great!”

  “And how’s Karen treating you?”

  “She asked me to come to her birthday party!”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! How exciting!”

  “Yeah. She’s gonna be twelve. I can’t wait.”

  “Will there be dancing? Or do you know yet?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You think you’d like to dance with her?”

  “Yeah. I would.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see what she has in mind.”

  “You know, Sonia, remember when you talked about love and all that? And I said love is just for married people?”

  “Mmm, vaguely. I think I remember you telling me that.”

  “I think I really do love Karen. But don’t tell my mom. Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Trust me. I think that’s wonderful, Wellie. Love is a very special thing, isn’t it.”

  “Yeah. It sure is.”

  “You hang on to how you feel about Karen, Wellie. Remember her, even years from now, when you’re grown up. Don’t ever forget how you loved her.”

  “I won’t.”

  “It’s really important to remember your first true love. There won’t ever be anyone else quite like her.”

  “Thanks, Sonia.”

  “You’re welcome, Wellie.”

  About the author

  John Lloyd Work, (January 8, 1947) has taken the detective thriller genre and sometimes woven an occasional political thread throughout his books, morphing what was once considered an arena reserved for pure fiction into believable, terrifying, futuristic, true-to-life “faction”.

  He traveled the uniformed patrolman’s path, answering brutal domestic violence calls, high speed chases, homicides, suicides, armed robberies, breaking up bar fights, and experiencing the accompanying sporadic unpredictable moments of terror - all of which eventually come to police officers, often when least expected. He gradually
absorbed the hard fact that the greatest danger a cop faces comes in the form of day-to-day encounters with emotionally disturbed, highly intoxicated people. Those experiences can wear a cop down, grinding on his emotions and psyche. Prolonged exposure to the worst of people and people at their worst can soon make him believe that the world is a sewer. The police officer’s reality is a common thread throughout Work’s crime fiction books.

  Born in Rochester, Pennsylvania, he grew up in Southern California as the eldest of three sons. His father’s progenitors moved to the United States from England and Aberdeen, Scotland. His mother’s side of the family, coal miners and railroad workers, came from Wales and Ireland.

  Following his graduation from high school in Anaheim, California, Work studied music and became a professional performer, conductor and teacher. Life made a sudden, unexpected turn. One afternoon in 1976, his cousin, who eventually became the Chief of a major Southern California police department, talked him into riding along during a patrol shift. The musician was hooked into becoming a police officer.

  After working for two years as a reserve officer in Southern California and in Boulder, Colorado, he joined the Longmont, Colorado Police Department. Work served there for seven years, investigating crimes as a patrolman, detective and patrol sergeant.

  In 1989 he joined the Adams County, Colorado Sheriff’s Office, where he soon learned that locking a criminal up inside a jail or prison does not put him out of business. While serving as a uniformed deputy in the jail division, Work designed a seminar on how a criminal’s mind formulates his victim selection strategy. Some of the intended victims were other prisoners and some were staff members. Over a period of six years he taught that workshop in sheriff’s academies and in colleges throughout Colorado. He saw the world of crime both inside the walls and out on the streets.

  As a detective assigned to the jail division he investigated hundreds of crimes, including eleven contract murder conspiracies which originated “inside the walls.”

  During his tenure as an Adams County detective, he was a member of the North Metro Gang Task Force and the Colorado Security Threat Intelligence Network Group (STING).

  Work’s final experiences in the criminal law field were with the Colorado State Public Defender’s Office, where for nearly two years he investigated felonies from the defense side of the Courtroom.

  Twenty-two years of observing human nature at its worst, combined with watching some profound changes in America’s culture and political institutions, have provided plenty of material for his books.

  Books by John L. Work

  Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback Versions

  A Dark Obsession Times 2

  Murder For Comfort

  A Summons to Perdition – A Jihad Thriller

  A Summons to Perdition – Book 2

  The Canal

  A Well-Regulated Vengeance

  The Barter

  The Barter 2: Crusade

  The Barter 3: Rescue

  Four Novellas: The Barter Series

  Grande Hills Reunion – A Thriller

  Bar Fights and Other Funny Stories – A Short Story Collection

  Fadoesque – A Thriller

  Stylist – A Psycho-Sexual Thriller