Background: Retired attorney Larry "Mercury" Morris happily enjoys the good life. Then, in the middle of a night, 500,000 greenbacks mysteriously appear on his doorstep. The money lures him into one more case -- the case of the dead surf queen. Can Mercury Morris save his client from a lethal injection and himself from the conspiracy that haunts him?


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End of Chapter Five:

Johnson had previously been warned about smoking his smooth-flavored, full-bodied, specially-fermented habanos in the basement of his contemporary house. The property contained large windows without decorative trim, a gabled roof, and an open floor plan. It was much too late to listen now. A thread of delight wove through the dread. I continued on my journey.

I passed by the McLaughlin Eastshore State Park, a mostly wetlands area. From there, I turned west on Interstate 80 and chanted, "Provide me with strength and allow me to triumph."


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Serpentine ribbons from rays of the sun danced off the blacktop. After being waterboarded, agoraphobia would have been easy to contract. I refused to live in fear of the outside world. Instead, I immersed myself deeper into my surroundings than I'd previously been. Still, moments of my past reminded me of my mortification. Shopping malls, public transit, and even wide open spaces could potentially trigger anxiety. So could crowds and traveling. I preferred to allow my palpitations, sweats, and rapid heartbeats to be the results of the excitement I experienced inside a courtroom during an intense trial. Aerobic exercise at the gym I'd joined, and the self-help group I attended on Tuesday afternoons, also eased the anxiety of my torture ordeal. Being retired allowed ample time for these activities.

A celebration of life. I allowed that emotion to charge through me as I meandered down Highway 1 en route to visit an old friend. My trek led me to a fenced pasture outside the Muir Woods National Monument. Located on Mount Tamalpais, this remained one of California's oldest primeval redwood forests. Here, you could walk along Redwood Creek, a salmon spawning ground. But, no angling allowed.

Spotted owls, and pileated woodpeckers, roosted in the tops of trees scattered throughout the forest. Eleven species of bats resided in the monument. And, sea otters played in the lagoon area of Redwood Creek. Their coos, whistles, screams, cries, and playful social antics entertained.

Cool and moist all year because of its close proximity to the Pacific Ocean, fog shrouded Muir Woods. A gravelly, stony, and rocky terra firma provided the soil the redwoods grew in. One of the most common species of trees constituting understory for the monument, tanoaks possessed toothed, hard, and leathery leaves. They also sprouted acorns. Bigleaf maples produced flowering racemes, and aromatic bay laurels scented the air.

I swung my truck off the pavement, and cavorted across the uneven meadow to the equine gate at the north side of the fence that surrounded the pasture. The ingress offered a single-hinged section. From there, the land sloped down. I knew Shadrach would trot right up to me the moment he saw my truck. I'd come to see him for the last two years, every time I needed to discuss important matters with someone.

I did not know who owned the pasture, or the grey. Not that it mattered. With full attention, he listened to all my troubles. I didn't even know what his real name was, or if he even had one. I called him Shadrach because I liked the sound of the name. I thought the moniker fit him well. He was big, about sixteen hands tall, and must have weighed twelve hundred pounds.

I stopped my truck and glanced down at the vial on the passenger seat I'd removed from Frank Johnson's Oakland residence earlier that day. I shuddered to think what the clear liquid the flask contained consisted of. I would have my connections down at the lab analyze them. However, if the solvent contained what I thought it did, I knew his and Ritterhoff's heinous plans were laid in motion. The question would become how to stop them and the horror they intended? The plot sickened with each passing moment.

Shadrach placed his massive head over the top rail as I approached the fence. The dapple Andalusian liked having his ears scratched. Instinctively, I reached out my hand to do so. Shadrach was compact and built strong. His features made him much more attractive. He possessed a slight convex profile, an expansive neck, an immense chest, and well defined withers. His back was short and broad. His rump well rounded. His tail, long and thick. No excess feathering adorned his legs. Over the course of time I'd come to visit Shadrach, I could tell he was highly intelligent, sensitive, quick to learn, and responsive. His reward for listening to me tell him my problems? Two carrots and an apple.

Discussing life's ups and downs, we talked about everything. I popped two little white pills and drank them down with half a can of Pepsi. Shadrach looked at me like he expected me to offer him the rest of the drink.

"Painkillers," I explained, "the malaise the world is in today. That's why I need them."

I got a "where's mine?" look.

"Now, Ritterhoff owns the firm I created," I grumbled.

Shadrach whinnied his disapproval.

Distressed, I scratched him behind the ears again and stated, "Partner, I even know his personal habits and they're not comforting."

I remained convinced I would inflict justice upon my enemy before this matter was resolved.

That's when I told myself, "What you need to know is the long list of his goons. And, you know Ritterhoff never spoke a word of truth in his life."

Once more, I scratched Shadrach behind his ears.

"Doesn't ring any bells, 'eh?" I inquired.

He looked back at me.

"Through his associates he has a lot of power," I continued disgusted by my revelation and expressive sound, "Ritterhoff's a unique player with much bigger interests than a single law firm in San Francisco. But, I'm going to get him and the others who are just as corrupt as he is. So, don't tell anyone what we've talked about, okay?"

Shadrach looked at me as if to reply, "I don't trust anyone either. We're living in a world of lies."

I told him, "So true, but remember, pal, under a sea of chicanery there's truth waiting to erupt."

My friend looked back at me and I promised him, "No matter what they've done, I'm taking the fight to them. Whatever hidey hole they've crawled into, I'm rooting them out of their nests. I'm an old man, Shadrach. I could be dead tomorrow, or even tonight."

I remembered being waterboarded and uttered, "Or something worse than dead."

A singular chill persisted in my bones. It made me feel good...and right.

Two hours rapidly passed. As I climbed back inside my truck, many questions raced through my mind about the vial that reposed on the front seat across from me. I needed answers about its contents. After what Ritterhoff, and his cronies, put me through they were fortunate to avoid prison. That was reality with all its crisp edges.

I glimpsed in my rearview mirror and discerned two unidentified figures dressed like farmers. They approached the fenceline behind me in a deliberate and methodical mode. I accelerated and cut the wheels hard. I was well versed in the composition of the flora, rocks, and earth of the area. I steered between two large boulders, crossed a stone threshold, then doglegged downhill. I swung the truck back to the right. Fortunately, it did not roll. I continued south along a narrow ridge.

Suddenly, a red SUV appeared behind me. Sensing danger, I cut into a gulley that drew abreast on both sides. Sandy mud and weeds, along with a mixture of compacted soil and splintered shale, became my escape route. The SUV remained in sight. I arrived at the bottom of the canyon. There, I navigated my way through rushing water, underbrush, mud, and an onslaught of trees that flew by me like highline poles. Hellbent on staying alive, slowing down was not an alternative.

I cut the wheels sharp to the left. The swift act avoided my truck flying into a ravine. The SUV plunged nose-first onto the rock field below leaving bloody seats, shattered glass, and a mangled mess as earmarks of the crumpled up machine. For a moment, I sat inside the cab of my stopped truck and wondered who the unfortunate souls were that met their fate in such a miserable manner? My suspicions about the vial on the seat beside me deepened. I pulled onto Highway 1 and headed for the lab.