Brian Bowers - The Galactic Adventures Series

The tall man stood silent as a stone atop the small hill, with his head bowed and a very rare tear running down his cheek as he looked at the tombstone in front of him. It cast a long shadow on the grass in the early morning sun. Shannon Wells, loving wife to Jake, sister of Bill, Steve, and Mark, daughter of Marie and Tom. 19952021. Rest in peace, read the epitaph. He shook his head in disgust and then sighed deeply.

I failed you, Shannon, he whispered and sighed again. Slowly, he raised his head, wiped away his single tear, and looked around the large graveyard. Stones, mortuaries, and mausoleums filled the scenery as far as he could see. The small hill he stood on sat in a corner of the graveyard, and he glanced briefly at many of the other stones and epitaphs nearby. Giant maple trees lined the roadway back to the front gate. The budding branches swayed violently in the early spring wind. A robin sat on a nearby branch, singing its song as a squirrel ran past and up a nearby tree. For a moment, Jake felt at peace, surrounded by the sounds of nature. He sighed again, remembering that day just a few months ago when she was taken from him. His faced hardened, and he whispered, Ill get them for this. If its the last thing I do, Ill get them! Jake took out his cellphone, held up it in front of the stone, lined it up, and took a picture of the epitaph.

Suddenly, his serenity was broken by a voice behind him, from his car radio. He whirled and began hurrying back toward his black Mustang on the gravel road. As he jogged down the small hill, he heard the radio again. He got to his car a few seconds later and reached in through the window, grabbing his CB radio and calling in.

2516 here, say again.

The voice spoke back almost immediately, Detective Wells, dispatch here. I have an address on that name you gave me.

Go, he replied and hopped into his car. Writing down the address, he hung up his radio and turned the key in the ignition. The powerful engine roared to life and interrupted the serenity of the empty graveyard. Thin waves of smoke blew out of the dual exhaust, and he took one last look out his window toward her grave as he shifted to drive and hammered the accelerator, shooting up a trail of gravel from his tires all over the grass. Ill find him, Shannon, Ill find him! he promised her as his car sped around the corner. Heading for the front gate, he slowed momentarily as a little old caretaker waved to him as he drove a little cart along the path toward the grave. He pointed in the back of the cart to a tombstone for Jake to read, and the big man scanned it, nodded his approval, and then sped off under the archway that read, Restful Gardens Cemetery and Moratorium.

As he turned onto the road, his mind raced, remembering all the facts of this case. He had been tracking this gang for months, and he was much more diligently now since he believed they were responsible for Shannons death. It had become an obsession actually. He would bring them down, one at a time, until they were all either dead or behind bars. I prefer the former, he said out loud as if he was trying to justify it. This most recent lead was the address of one of the youngest gang members, and now he was headed in that direction.

He kept his window down as he sped along, enjoying the morning brisk wind on his face. His long, black hair waved on his shoulders and blended in with his black, leather jacket. He focused his attention on the road ahead as the shops and houses whizzed by, and he was determined only to reach the address as fast as possible. He weaved in and out of some early morning traffic but had a pretty clear path as he turned here and there toward his destination. Reaching down to the seat beside him, he rifled through some loose papers, empty pizza boxes, food wrappers, and file folders and found the paper with the address and read it again, 23 Sycamore. He scanned the next street sign as he approached it, saw it was the one he wanted, and turned onto the street. He knew this part of town well and slowed his powerful car down and approached cautiously. This was not a good area, and there was no need to draw more attention than necessary. He remembered the lecture he had just received by his captain last week about calling for backup and how imperative it was, and he tried to count how many times he had had that lecture. He smiled to himself, realizing it was too many to remember.