Brush Creek Charlie, D. B. Reynolds [top non fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

death. He’d killed many times while serving his tour of duty over in Vietnam. Killing Lisa became his first domestic murder. Foreign murders were acceptable by his beloved U.S. Government.
Taking out an innocent woman would’ve never been acceptable. Charlie ran inside the bathroom and flicked on the light with vigor. He placed his nightmare-of-a-face square into the bathroom mirror. He’d become a mentally and emotionally sick man, and now the symptoms became more evident. Tears from fear of loss and abandonment burst from his eyes.
“War has on beginning, and it has no ending!” Charlie whined through gritted teeth.
He hit the light switch and exited the bathroom. He stood above Lisa’s dead body and studied her for just a moment. Feelings of guilt were easily suppressed by thoughts of how bad the Americans treated the Vietnamese during the war. Just another dead American woman was how Charlie felt at the moment. His next move? To dispose of her body in a quick and efficient manner. The craziest, yet the sickest thought struck him like electricity.
Chopping through tall vegetation in the jungles of Vietnam entered his deranged mind. He remembered the Full Tang Monster Machete he’d brought home from the war. Charlie went inside his walk-in closet and brought out the machete which’d dulled over the years. Layers of thick dust covered the blade and handle. Utensils were used to sharpen the blade to razor-sharp perfection.
Like a Samurai Warrior, Charlie held the machete high in the air. His back arched and he held a grip around the handle tighter than ever. He sprung forward and the first chop ripped straight through the Deltoid muscles and Pectoralis’ of Lisa’s arms and shoulders. The second and third chops expressed more savagery. They ripped into the upper Quadriceps and flexor muscles.
Blood formed a pool at least five feet wide. The arms and legs were now dismembered from the body of Lisa Wallace. Charlie didn’t realize it, but he’d created a few pounding noises which traveled back downstairs to the apartment of Derrick and Mitchell. And guess who came knocking at his door in the late night hours?
“Yeah, who is it?” Charlie answered, his voice edgy.
“It’s Derrick and Mitchell from downstairs,” Derrick spoke quite angrily.
“Yeah, what can I do for you?”
“For number one, you can stop making all that noise. There are people under you trying to sleep.”
“Sorry about that.”
“We do have to go to work in the morning.”
Charlie boiled over inside everytime the bothersome gay men showed up at his door. Faggots were the most irritable people in the world to him.
“Didn’t mean to wake you guys up.”
“What are you in there doing anyway?”
“Doing some housework.”
“At this time of night?”
“Had to put the finishing touches on something I started earlier.”
“Charlie, you do have neighbors. I’d hate to have’ta call the police or have the manager come and see you.”
“No, no, please don’t do that.”
Having the police or the manager show up at his apartment was the last thing on Earth Charlie needed. The murdered body of a woman was sprawled across his floor. A familiar odor saturated the air inside his apartment. The body’s swift decomposition had faltered into the hallway.
“Charlie, what’s that smell coming from inside your apartment?” Derrick questioned his weird neighbor, putting on the ugliest face ever.
“What smell?” Charlie asked. “I don’t smell nothing, guys.”
Dead bodies produced smelly gases right away. He should’ve known such things from having fallen over dead bodies in Vietnam.
“Did you forget to take out your trash?”
“My trash goes out when it should.”
“What, you let something rot or spoil?”
“Nothing’s rotten or spoiled in here.”
Nervous couldn’t begin to describe how Charlie felt. Did Derrick and Mitchell smell a dead body inside his apartment?
“Charlie, could you open the door, please?” Derrick requested, his patience running low.
“Guys, I’m not dressed right now.”
“We hear anymore noise up here, we’re going to call the police.”
“Quiet as a church mouse it what I’ll be from here on out.”
Charlie released a huge wind of relief when Derrick and Mitchell went back downstairs. The black and white faggots just had to bring their nosy asses upstairs to spring up some drama. Charlie had a body to dispose of. Those industrial strength garbage bags were the ideal material to transport body parts. He went into the kitchen and looked under the sink for the garbage bags he used in his forty gallon trashcan.
The bloody torso of Lisa was placed inside one of the large bags by itself. The dismembered arms and legs were placed in another bag and tied real tight. Charlie looked out the window and onto the street. Mild traffic and not a single pedestrian was what he wanted to see. He crept to the door and peeked into the hallway. A thin transparency of darkness wavered down the stairs going to the front door. Complete silence came from the apartment of Derrick and Mitchell. Charlie felt now was the opportune time to make his move.
He snatched the bags up, locked his apartment door, looked all around upstairs, and then tiptoed down the stairs. He rushed outside in order to avoid detection.


CHAPTER—6

The moon seemed to have casted the brightest glow above Brush Creek. Charlie only had a few blocks to drive to arrive at the creek. Still waters of fresh sewage flowed through the concrete channels just upstream from The Country Club Plaza. Charlie looked down at his watch and the time read 1:25 a.m. Forget about being in bed and resting up for a long day ahead. He scanned the area for potential witnesses and then popped his trunk. To display his psychotic nature, he lifted the trashbags holding the torso and dismembered limbs. He lifted his head to the sky and offered the remains of Lisa Wallace as a sacrifice to Brush Creek.
“Almighty Brush Creek, I come to you on this early morning,” Charlie howled in a demented voice. “I make this offering to you. I make this sacrifice to you. I send all of my love out to you. Please, Almighty Brush Creek, take this as my supreme devotion to you.”
Charlie slung both bags and tossed them into the stream where the creek transitioned from its semi-natural state from The Country Club Plaza into its old concrete channel.
Sounds from nature crackled through the trees and from around the grass. Squirrels jumped from one branch to the other. Ducks and other birds trickled through the creek water. Rabbits hopped through the grass and nestled into their holes. Friends and family members never knew how Charlie tortured and killed animals in the wild of Brush Creek. No one had a clue how Charlie captured rabbits and squirrels with his bare hands and jabbed them with sharp rocks and sticks and derived pleasure from watching them squeal for mercy. The psychotic tendencies started well before he’d been shipped off to Vietnam.
Charlie returned to his apartment just before the stroke of 2:00 o’clock a.m. The blood from the dismembered body of Lisa Wallace dried into a cake formation. Those who smelled raw blood before knew it wasn’t a pleasant odor. Charlie ducked under his kitchen sunk in search of cleaning products. What he came out with were containers of Lysol, Pinesol, lemon ammonia, Ajax, and bleach.
Careful not to wake up Derrick and Mitchell, he quietly mixed one cleaning substance after another. He mopped and mopped until the water turned reddish black. He dumped one bucket after another until the hardwood floor was spotless.
Somehow, the odor still lingered in the air. Charlie fired up one incense stick after another. Large cans of Lysol and Airwick were sprayed to kill the smell. He raised all the windows facing Brush Creek, his favorite location in the Universe. Freshness made a comeback within minutes. The clock on the end table read 3:15 a.m. Charlie had to be up by 5:00 a.m. Fixing Lisa’s car, inviting her over for dinner, committing her brutal murder, and then dumping her body a half-mile away, was all in a day’s work.


CHAPTER—7

Spencer Cochran arose every morning at the crack of dawn to go out for his daily jog. As part of his routine, he ate his toast and slammed down his energy drink, kissed his wife and daughter, and headed right out the door. Long before residents around The Country Club Plaza awoke and got ready for work, he stood in the grass of Volker Park for a nice healthy stretch. Motorists fired up their car engines while pots of hot brewing coffee seeped through the cracks of houses around the creek. Spencer started his journey from the heart of The Country Club Plaza and jogged down a stretch of one mile into the Hyde Park area.
A layer of daylight expressed a dominance across the Kansas City skies. Wildlife arose from their inner sanctums to start their day. Spencer jogged along the concrete trail leading back into the heart of The Country Club Plaza. An unusual splash at the edge of the creek waters caught his direct attention. Curiosity led him over by the waters, only to discover an arm sticking out of a mud spotted trashbag. Spencer reached for the bag and dragged it onto the grass.
Another trashbag floated right up to the banks. Some turtles were perched on top and appeared to have been feasting on something. Spencer noticed how much heavier this one had been after lifting it onto the grass. He used a sharp rock to puncture a hole into the second bag. The goods inside did enough to make him skip the next ten meals. A torso in a terrible state of decay had been unveiled. Maggots in great numbers crawled on the outer surface of the bag. His discovery did enough to send him straight to a payphone near the busy streets of The Country Club Plaza. Spencer dropped two quarters into the payphone and punched in the emergency digits.
“Nine-one-one operator, what is your emergency?” the operator asked, her voice silky.
“My name’s Spencer Cochran and I’d like to report finding a dead body,” Spencer responded, the ghastly sight having stirred him up.
“Sir, what’s the location of