Mourning Reign Read online

  Mourning Reign

  An Alex Mendez Tale

  Edward Hancock II

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are

  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not

  to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,

  organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2010, 2017 by Edward Hancock II

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

  system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,

  mechanical, recording or otherwise, without written permission, except

  in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  ISBN-13: 978-1545147610

  ISBN-10: 1545147612

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my late cousin, Longview PD Sgt. Jerry Hancock, Jr. Many times, I’ve said Alex Mendez was the “Me” that I never got to be, owing to my disability. But in so many ways, Jerry was the “Alex” that Alex Mendez will never get to be. He spent more than two decades living the life and solving the crimes I can only write about in my books. The adventures I live out through a fictional character, Jerry actually lived, and many more that I will never know. I’ve always been one to “Back the Blue” as they say, even before Jerry joined their ranks. But I promise you, Jerry, I will continue that effort in your name until we meet again in Heaven.

  Mendez Series books (Preferred Reading Order)

  Mourning Reign

  Heart Beatings

  Connection Terminated

  Target: Mendez

  Mendez: Genesis (Series Prequel)

  Stay tuned for more books in the series coming soon!

  CHAPTER 1

  The Trigger

  Too late, Lisa saw the trigger in the madman’s hand. His thumb nervously pressed against… what… a button? Some kind of switch? A rainbow of wires trailed from the bottom of his hand, up his black sleeve, disappearing into God only knew where.

  “A bomb!” she screamed, milliseconds before her mind grabbed conscious hold of the thought. “He’s got a bomb!”

  Bullets were riddling his chest and torso from all sides but the man refused to stay down. No fewer than twenty cops were firing, some less than a few feet away. His right leg wobbled out from under him by a shotgun blast but nothing seemed to be getting through. He was not going to be taken by a headshot. His face concealed, his entire skull protected by what looked like regulation SWAT gear. This was no ordinary SWAT helmet though. A headshot sparked as it bounced carelessly off the helmet, making little more than a dent. At least two officers were using high-powered rifles with armor-piercing shells but nothing was getting through.

  What was the angle? Where’s my shot? Shoot the gun out of his hand? That’d just piss him off.

  So, what then? Shoot the remote trigger? That ran the risk of setting off whatever explosives he was mastering. She knew whatever was strapped to him was protected behind some strange type of body armor this guy was wearing. Amazed, Lisa quickly cruised her mental police file for anything like the armor protecting the psychopath facing down an entire police force. She’d heard or read nothing that could quell her utter astonishment at the power possessed by the lone assailant.

  His throat looked vulnerable, but the shot would have to be perfect.

  From her vantage point, it was no good. The hard shell of the super helmet he was wearing protected the back of his neck and head. A dead man would release his grip on the button. What then? Was that the end? Shoot him. Kill him. Then boom?

  Think!

  She thought of Christina and the baby brother or sister that would soon join the Mendez family. She thought of Alex and how much they’d been through in the past few months. Distracted by the mixture of warm comfort and the despondent grief weighing down upon her,

  Lisa almost hadn’t felt the bullet slam into her right shoulder. Though it shook her with great force, twisting her off balance, even from a crouched position, it was the warm blood flowing from her body, cooling as it stained her tattered blouse, that brought Lisa back to reality.

  In a flash, Danny was at her side.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” he shouted, above the hail of automatic gunfire, shotgun blasts and police issues. In a moment of annoying distraction, Lisa noticed how the pops from the police handguns sounded more like mere pellet guns when compared to the thunderous drumbeats expelling from the assailant’s weapon. Danny applied pressure to Lisa’s shoulder wound, causing her to jerk and wince suddenly.

  “This guy’s serious, Danny!”

  “No kidding, Sherlock!” he exclaimed. “We’ve gotta save our

  butts!”

  “What about everyone else?”

  “We’ve got people down everywhere, Lisa! It’s a war zone and

  we’re losing!”

  “He’s got a bomb!” she screamed. “And I think he plans on using

  it.”

  “And full body armor. Now can you crawl out of here or do I need

  to piggy back a pregnant woman?”

  “I can make it,” she insisted, though not wanting to leave her post.

  Not wishing to run and hide while so many of her comrades continued the futile struggle.

  It was a slow careful crawl, labored by a wounded shoulder bleeding profusely. The sudden burst of silence filled the room when the crazed idiot stopped to reload.

  Lisa froze dead still. Danny looked behind to make sure she was still there.

  “Why isn’t someone firing?” she thought to herself. “He’s reloading! Now’s your chance.” She seemed to be willing the entire room to stand up and open fire while the guy was distracted. Do something, she told herself.

  Footsteps. Slow, careful footsteps.

  Him.

  Closer…

  CHAPTER 2

  Broken Hell

  When the gunshots resumed Lisa knew she was far too close to danger—inches away with only a toppled wooden desk and an already

  useless aluminum doorframe between her and death.

  “I swear,” she thought, rubbing her stomach gently. “If we get out

  of this, Mommy’s never putting on a badge again.”

  Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled through the destroyed doorway into the main corridor. Her foot jammed on a sharp piece of broken aluminum, slicing deep into unprotected flesh.

  She screamed.

  The gunman turned, fired.

  Pain filled her body. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat.

  Every joint ached horribly and there was a sharp pain in her stomach.

  She couldn’t speak. Her brain would not focus. The chaos of her surroundings had confused Lisa’s senses. She struggled to call out for help but her throat would not let loose, would not relinquish the sounds that had suddenly become trapped within.

  Her body cycled between moments of intense pain and the fearful relief that numbness provided.

  She was losing feeling. Without warning, she couldn’t feel anything below the belly button except for a few spots that registered hot with pain.

  Tears frustrated her already cloudy vision. She felt herself blacking out.

  A warm breeze kissed her cheek. Lisa thought she smelled grass.

  Her eyes swam behind oceans of light. She felt her body jostle but

  could not understand what was happening. Her face felt hot and was quickly becoming warmer.

  Hard to focus.

  Danny’s face? Danny?

  Help me.

  Wind whistled in
her ears.

  Cold. So cold.

  Her body began to shiver. The warmth on her face was gone.

  No!

  God, please don’t let me die!

  ***

  In the six months since Cecil Montgomery had been working as Walmart’s security guard, not so much as a single shoplifter had attempted to intrude upon the safety of the kingdom he’d sworn to protect. At 77 years of age, standing barely 5’7, weighing 110 lbs if he tried real hard, Cecil Montgomery was not an imposing figure by any means. His thin, white hair did little to prevent the overhead lights from reflecting off his shiny scalp. His eyesight wasn’t the sharpest in the world but a good set of bifocals had proven quite useful over the years.

  Today, as he wandered about, up and down the clothing department, he didn’t need glasses to notice the unattended baby carrier sitting in the otherwise empty shopping cart just outside the Junior Miss section. Two young black women were nearby. Cecil decided the baby belonged to them.

  “Wouldn’t leave your baby alone too long if I’s you,” he

  admonished the two.

  Both turned and offered strange looks.

  “What baby?” the older looking one asked.

  “Over there,” Cecil said, pointing to the shopping cart where the unattended baby carrier sat, rocking gently. He could see the blanket stirring, which meant the infant was awake.

  “Ain’t my baby.”

  “Mine neither,” said the younger looking black woman.

  Curious, Cecil began to scan the area. There was nobody else nearby except for Lydia, the pudgy Italian lady that worked the Junior Miss department.

  “Anyone in the dressing rooms Lydia?”

  “Nope,” she noted, not looking up from the sale paper she was browsing.

  “Well now,” Cecil declared, walking over to the shopping cart.

  “Okay little fella, let’s see if we can go find your Mama.”

  ***

  The July heat had settled into East Texas with a vengeance and Longview was no doubt receiving the lion’s share of Mother Nature’s molten fury. Walmart Supercenter was, as always, a summer hot spot for bored teenagers paroled from the pursuit of academic excellence. Smiles, waves and expressions of general teen acknowledgement polluted the air of Eric Reid’s most sacred place of employment. With every smile, wave or convoluted, spasmodic hand gesture, Eric jealously mocked the kids labeled by the high school hierarchy as the “cool” kids, the “popular crowd.” He didn’t hide his disdain for this group of mindless zombies. While he might crave notoriety, Eric Reid had long ago decided he would rather be celebrated for his individuality than so falsely admired for reluctant conformity.

  “Mommy and Daddy can’t buy your way to success,” he whispered, as Jacob Longmire and his group stampeded their way through the aisles like a herd of rampaging longhorns. Oddly, even as he spoke the words, he realized exactly how untrue his statement had been. Looking at the tiny cliques of students from the local high schools, Eric Reid admitted to himself that many of these failures of humanity would ride to success on the checkbooks of their parents.

  Today, most were buying chips, ice and sodas for a trip to any of a number of area lakes in Gladewater, Gilmer or the famous Lake O’ The Pines in Ore City. Those who wished for more “grown up” pursuits—sex, drugs and alcohol—would not find their heart’s desire at Sam Walton’s family-oriented legacy, at least not in this Walmart. They sold everything from music and movies to clothes and cough medicine, from bread and cereal to milk and eggs. Everything that is, except for alcoholic beverages. All at prices anyone could afford.

  But that wasn’t why Eric Reid loved Walmart so much. Sure there was always something you needed that could be found on the fabled shelves of Longview’s most popular store. Eric’s fascination was much less profound but with farther-reaching effects. That is to say it reached deep into his hormones every time one of the girls from his high school came sauntering in wearing their skimpy little bikini tops and cut-off denim shorts. They might not give him so much as a second glance or word of greeting, but that didn’t bother Eric Reid. So long as one of them occasionally bent over or stretched for something on a shelf just beyond her reach, Eric Reid’s fantasy world remained hormonally intact. Had he been anyone else, anyone other than Eric Reid, the social leper, he might risk the occasional “hello” or “how’s it going?” A more respected classmate might even attempt to find out how their summer was going. But this was Eric Reid. The outcast was going to have to settle for staring longingly at the females in various forms of undress, wondering how their summer was going and realizing all the while that he really didn’t care how their summer was going since nothing about their summer plans including the slightest thought of including Eric Reid.

  His favorites were the Tomlinson twins, Carolyn and Danielle. Each about 5’4”, blonde—Carolyn’s was a bit darker but only just--and breasts that weren’t huge by any means but bordered on being slightly out of proportion for their small, athletic frames. No doubt, Eric could stare at the Tomlinson twins all day. And he might, were it not for their boyfriends.

  Justin Hill and Quenton Becker were two of the biggest idiots Eric had ever known and they were perfect examples of his philosophy that jerks always got the best chicks. Especially football playing jerks standing 6’3” or more and weighing 180 and 205 lbs respectively. Hill and Becker were hometown heroes at Gladewater high school. Justin, quarterback for the Gladewater squad, grew up with Quenton, the town’s star receiver. The duo spent the last two years of school dominating most of the district’s other varsity squads, though never leading their school past district rival Gilmer. Despite all the Gladewater Bear’s gridiron success, the Gilmer Buckeye squad had proven themselves a tough nut to crack.

  Eric Reid might never match the success of the Gladewater football team. He’d never know the adulation of being carried off the field on the shoulders of fellow football stars. He’d never score the winning touchdown or make the game-saving defensive tackle but he defied both Justin Hill and Quenton Becker to properly balance even the simplest chemical formula or solve a basic algebra problem. Oh yes, Eric told himself, that’ll make the young girls scream the name of Eric Reid.

  “Yeah Baby!” he thought. “Solve that quadratic equation. Oh yeah! Who’s your daddy?”

  “Daydreaming on the job again, Stud Muffin?”

  Jenny Anderson’s voice was a nails-on-the-chalkboard intrusion into his otherwise perfectly Utopian juvenile sexual fantasy. Unlike the Tomlinsons, nothing about Jenny stood out as pretty. She had crooked teeth. When she got real close, her breath smelled like a moldy garbage can. Her complexion was covered with the oily residual effects of a teenage diet of candy and soda, a diet that had been equally cruel to her butt as it was to her skin.

  “She’s no Danielle Tomlinson,” he often thought to himself.

  Her coke bottle glasses had recently been replaced by contacts and Eric couldn’t help but wonder when Jenny was going to go back at least into partial hiding, so as to mask some of her unattractiveness.

  Admittedly, he felt bad passing such a harsh judgment on Jenny. She’d always been sweet to him. In fact, she’d been the only girl to give him the time of day since Junior High. At one time, before teenage years had exacted cruel revenge on both of them, Jenny and Eric had been somewhat decent friends. Her tomboy fascination with all things space had suited his Star Wars obsession quite nicely, before other things in life became more important than mere mutual interests.

  He’d often rationalized Jenny was God’s way of testing him. If he could find it inside his own lanky, zit-covered person to love Jenny Anderson at her ugliest, God would reward Eric handsomely. In the end, Jenny would be one of those ugly duckling chicks that appear on talk shows eight years later to show off their stripper quality, surgically altered bodies to the boys who used to make fun of her in school.

  For now, she was just Jenny, an unwelcome visitor into his slacking off in aisle seven
of the grocery department.

  “Hi Jenny,” Eric whispered with absent enthusiasm.

  “Yo, Babe.” She winked at him, sending a wave of revulsion

  swimming through his gut. Sorry God, Eric thought to himself. I’ll just have to wait till she’s pretty.

  “You work tomorrow?” Jenny asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “When’s your next day off?”

  “I don’t know,” he lied.

  “Well, find out,” Jenny insisted. “We’ll go to a movie or something.”

  “I’m usually pretty busy on my days off, Jenny,” Eric lied again.

  Most of his days off were spent reading science magazines, playing computer games and surfing the Internet.

  Jenny was relentless. She asked Eric out almost every week and sometimes she’d ask more than once “just to see if anything had changed.” Of course, this had forced Eric to become a better liar, something he didn’t like. But a date with Jenny Anderson was worse than social suicide to an already socially inept leper.

  Then again, he thought from time to time, when you go from zero dates to one, even Jenny Anderson is a step up. Oddly, that thought served only to deepen his depression.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me, you know,” Jenny said, her voice deflated, lacking the cheerful confidence with which she had greeted him.

  “I know that,” he tried to feign disinterest but his frustration was unavoidably evident.

  “So why don’t you want to even see a movie with me? It’s dark. Nobody’s gonna see if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I told you, Jenny. I’m real busy on my days off. I have to help my mom around the house and stuff. I have homework too. We’re in most of the same classes. Don’t you usually have homework?”

  Homework in the summer time?It was a weak excuse. He’d just painted himself into a corner.

  “Well there you go,” Jenny said, her cheerfulness suddenly returning. “We can have a study date and afterwards we can make out in my parents’ bed while the dog watches.”