Tribulation House: Reloaded

Chapter 3

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City Councilman Lester Goode, Seventh District, was living the high life. Goode had the money, Goode had the power, Goode had the connections—and the connections were going to bring him more money and more power.

Ted Massey made it work. Goode was connected to Massey. And Massey was connected to organized crime.

This particular afternoon, Councilman Goode was preparing for his rendezvous with his mistress. They met every Monday afternoon. He was in the men’s room adjusting his tie. He wanted to look good for his lady. He made bug eyes at the mirror; he thought it made him look sexy. He ran fingers back through thinning hair, grabbed his briefcase, and exited back into the hallway.

In the hall, he ran into Jerry Kirk. “Les, my man!”

Goode smirked. “Jerry. What’s the word?”

“Nuclear!” Kirk bellowed with laughter, like he had just said the greatest punch line in the world.

Goode chuckled, pretending to be amused.

Kirk finished laughing, wiping a tear from his eye. “But seriously, how is the case for the defense going?”

“It’s coming along.” The other man stared, waiting for him to elaborate. Goode added, “My lawyer says I have nothing to worry about. The prosecutor has no proof of any improprieties—”

“I thought they had a list.”

“A list?”

“The list of dead people who supposedly voted for you.”

“No. No such list could exist.” He glanced at his watch. Zelma was waiting. “Listen, I have to go to an afternoon appointment. I’m going to be out of the office.”

A grin spread slowly across Kirk’s face, eventually reaching both ears. “Hot date, huh?”

Goode blinked. “An appointment with a client.”

“Sure.” Kirk just kept giving him that look.

As Goode walked away, he could not help but grin in spite of himself. The “list” mentioned by Kirk did, of course, exist, but Mr. Massey said it was taken care of. Massey took care of everything.

Reaching his car, he plopped his briefcase on the passenger seat, where he could keep an eye on it. The case full of unauthorized photocopies regarding certain zoning issues.

Punching a few buttons on the radio until he found some good country and western, Goode headed for the open road. A little outside of town, he took the usual circuit, checking the rearview mirror often.

During the careful process—as long as he covered his tracks, who would ever know the difference?—he sang along with the radio. Trick Henderson had a new rodeo song, and Goode mumbled along.

 I look in her eyes and feel the luck

I just know this bronc ain’t gonna buck

I can taste that trophy now

I ain’t gonna plow

I ain’t gonna bow

I look in her eyes and feel the luck

The song didn’t make much sense, of course, but Goode liked the chords. And when the strings kicked in at the end, you just felt it, you know?

After he decided the coast was clear, he zeroed in on the Daylight Motel. It was a rundown operation outside of town, the safest place he knew to meet with Zelma. You weren’t likely to run into anyone important there. (And, at a place like that, if you did run into somebody important, they were just as likely hoping you didn’t notice them either.)

Goode pulled into the uneven gravel parking lot. Zelma’s coded message indicated they had a room in the “J” wing. Of course, it was one continuous building, with the same series of numbers on the door. If you knew the number, any two rooms would help you triangulate where to go.

He pulled around back. The pool sported a big crack across its dry, dirty green basin. No danger of any swimmers stumbling across the little tryst between Councilman Lester Goode and dancer Zelma Collins.

Not that he was doing a bad thing, mind you. He had long ago decided what he was doing was best for everyone concerned. A man had needs. But it was better to protect his wife and children this way. Keep them in the dark.

Locking up the car, clutching the briefcase close to his chest, Goode headed for J-14. He thought about his life and decided that his luck was just fine. He had more money than his wife or the IRS knew, he had power and more of it coming, and his connections meant he was on his way.

And now he was seeing his best gal. At his special knock, Zelma opened the door, all grins and not much else. “Whaddaya know, Goode? Are you governor yet?”

Lester was deflated. “Not yet.” Setting the briefcase on the little desk, he loosened his tie. “But I’m working on it.”

“Workin’ on it,” she whined. “Always workin’ on it.”

“That’s right, Buttons.” He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder. “I got connections. ”

“That’s what you always say.”

“With Warren Blake out of the race, Mr. Massey has me lined up to be the next mayor.” He rubbed his hand across the briefcase. “All I have to do is work out this zoning situation for him.” Goode pulled off his tie, started unbuttoning his shirt. “Stick with me. I’m going places.”

Later that night, on the way home to his wife, Lester Goode, City Council, Seventh District, had a heart attack, right there in the car. Hit a telephone pole two blocks from home.

It was all over the papers the next morning.

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There are 70 chapters for Tribulation House. You can buy the whole eBook from Amazon, Apple, Kobo, B&N, and more! 

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