Dead Men Don't Deal

Chapter One

The professor scrunched down beneath the bridge�s abutment. He shivered in the dampness as the cold concrete touched his skin. There was no safe place on a night like this. The driving rain gave him a limited choice of places to take refuge, as the deluge poured down around him. This proved the closest protective area he could find.

The weather followed him under the overpass, as he pulled his long gray trench coat up closer to his face. He kept thinking the storm would pass. It didn�t ... it was relentless.

The deceptive tranquillity of the earlier daylight hours had changed. The silence of the night skies were shattered by fires from Hell, as the moon-less sky became as bright as daylight. Crooked fingers of light crossed a stygian sky and thunder fractured the air. Spring had arrived in all her glory. Accompanied by an old fashioned Texas down-pour, she wasn�t shy in letting everyone know.

He squinted his eyes together and cupped his head in both hands, trying to shield his ears from the high-pitched sound that reverberated into his brain. It shook his entire body.

The strong winds blowing in from the North quickly chilled his bones and he felt as if he floated in a pond of ice water. The place he choose for a refuge became unbearable.

God, how I wished I were in my apartment right now; sitting in front of the fireplace next to the hot gas logs. I could be reading a good mystery, smoking my meerschaum pipe and still be warm.

Fading memories of a time that no longer existed continued to haunt him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a damp package of Marlboro cigarettes, then extracted one. As he lit it, he felt the warmth of the match against his hands. He hoped the cigarette might warm them too, but it offered little heat.

Dorington College stood beckoning him across the road. The professor had once been an integral part of that campus scene. His cousin, Sophia Armstrong, still taught there as a computer instructor.

After his mother�s death, Sophia�s mother took him in and raised him. He and Sophia became close as children, brought up like brother and sister. They shared almost everything over the years, except a few missing years. That was when he served in the military and off to college, but he remained close to her and her family.

This was only one of the reasons he coveted the campus, although he no longer taught at Dorington. He never strayed far from the halls of academia and the college served him as an umbilical cord, in spite of the strange circumstances which had cost him his job.

A late model car swung around and crossed under the bridge. As it came within a few feet of his perch the headlight's pierced the professor's eyes, blinding him temporarily. His left arm went up in the air crossing his face for protection, to shield his eyes, so he could see below him.

As the car passed, two round tail lights brought back memories again of the ranch not far to the south where he was raised. At fourteen, he would sneak out to the old barn to smoke a forbidden cigarette, look up, and see a pair of glaring yellow eyes. A large white screech owl looked down on him, reproaching him for his sins.

He puffed on the cigarette and a faint smile crossed his lips.

"Must be a new car. I don't recognize the make. I Wonder what it is," He mumbled to himself.

His eyes traced its route as he watched it turn left and drive up the main junction to the front entrance of the college.

The Professor stared curiously, Probably a visitor going to the campus. That�s odd on a Friday night, especially in this kind of weather. Maybe they plan to pick up someone or came from out of town and don�t know the college closes early on the weekends, He thought

Professor Randolph Willingham knew the stragglers that remained behind were trying to clear up last minute assignments before going home for the weekend. He understood well the feeling of not wanting to start a Monday with left over work from the week before. Although he found the late night visitor to the campus strange, he dismissed it as other more pressing things claimed his attention.

The professor, as some of the homeless called him or Dandy Randy, was only fifty-eight years old. A sprinkling of gray intermingled with his dark brown hair that circled the bald spot on top of his head. The pounds that covered his body were barely enough for his five ten frame. His inability to shave, gave him a stubble of a beard making his emaciated body look worn out and tired . In fact, he was exhausted!

This was one of those rare times when the professor was sober. Most of the time sobriety proved an unconscious memory to him. With nothing to drink, the pounding noise of thunder jolted the pit of his stomach, assaulted his besotted mind, and played havoc with his sense of reason.

He pulled the red stocking cap down over his ears and forehead trying to insulate himself from the knives of water that pierced his skin. Then he raised the damp collar of his gray trench coat to shield the bottom part of his face and neck.

Because he was so cordial the security, students, friends, and family alike, they all called him Randy. They looked upon him as a harmless fixture and felt sorry for the old ex-Professor who lost it all over a few bottles of wine.

The college planners designed everything with utmost care trying to account for any event even down to the slope of the parking.

Fortunately, the campus security never bothered him. Their office situated next to the South parking lot, stood close by the ballpark. The campus�s police would routinely check the parking lots every hour or so, making sure nothing was amiss and continued on their rounds. However, schedules seldom go as planned.

Murphy�s law infers, if anything can go wrong it most likely will. This is especially true when it concerns human beings and this night was no exception.

Randy decided, the baseball diamond might be a better than being under the bridge. He was familiar with the field and knew it was about 200 yard away. The dugout concrete walls would be safer and the wooden roof covered in tin would protect him from the elements. There could be no protection from the blowing rains where he was at present. It had to be an improvement. However in this kind of storm a location change was no guarantee of finding true shelter.

"It�s time to move," he mumbled to himself. "At least it will be dry if the winds don�t change."

Shivering and shaking he scampered up the hill toward that shelter.

The concrete in the campus parking lot had transformed itself into a silver stream of water that ran down the hill coming together and congregating like people at a Wednesday night prayer meeting.

Fortunately, when Randy reached the dugout, it was dry. He sighed in relief, then lay down on the cold hard bench, pulling his coat up around his face and shoulders. Then he curled up like a snail and soon the sound of the rain beating down on the wood-lined tin-roof, lulled him into a deep but restless sleep.

When he awoke the thunder and lightning had ceased, but it remained pitch black. A hard drizzle continued as he shook himself awake. The concrete drain in the dugout had kept him from floating away. At least that's a plus, he thought.

Randy looked down at his wrist for the time. "Damn, the money I received for my watch at the pawn shop I spent on that last bottle of Thunderbird."

Now, with no money ... no wine ... and nothing else left to appease his churning stomach, his hands shook. Lack of alcohol was taking its toll on his fragile state of mind. His innards felt like a roller coaster ride.

He reached in his pockets and counted the coin, outloud. "Three quarters, a dime, and two pennies, eighty-seven cents. That's not enough for a new bottle." This news depressed him.

Even though his judgment seemed fuzzy, Randy�s pragmatic mind decided quickly calculated his options.

"I need to have a drink of something, if it�s only water and maybe Something to eat too."

He remembered the downstairs teacher�s break room inside the college had vending machines. If he ran over there he could get a pack of crackers to settle his stomach with the little amount he still had.

The trip to the main building was a mere 30 yards away. He wrapped his wet coat around himself and prepared to dash across the open area. Just then a man came out the side door. Randy decided to wait, not wanting to talk to anyone.

The tall male didn�t seem in any hurry at first, but stood outside the doorway, under an overhang, and appeared to be talking on a cell phone to someone.

"That man might as well be dead, as long as he is standing there," He whispered softly as he stood shivering in wet shoes, "Dammit, hurry up! I need to get over there, before I get the DT's. Aren't you ever going to move?"

How could Randy know that in a few minutes his word might prove true and come back to haunt him. The man he watched was about to be killed, right before his eyes and the professor would become the prime suspect.