The Sunshine Spree

Other Books by Mitch Goth

The Monello/Grazer Series

To Catch a Killer

The Brigio Series

Parabellum

Parabellum: Part II

Matanzas

Sins of My Brother

The Man from Montenegro

The Protectorate Chronicles

Unlikely Angels

The Antioch Adventures

Welcome to Antioch College

Timid New World

The Street Fair

Powerless

Stand-alone novels

The Longest Night Ever Lived

The Sinking of The Pattison Glory

Delicate Rain

Shattered Glass

Collections

The Brigio Three

The Antioch Adventures Collection #1

The Sunshine Spree

Book two in The Monello/Grazer Series

By:

Mitch Goth

The Sunshine Spree

Smashwords Edition

Copyright: 2015 Mitch Goth

No portion of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in any medium, or by electronic, mechanical or any other means without the express written consent of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references or uses to real world events, people, products or places are used in a fictitious manner. Other characters, events, or places are products of imagination and any resemblance to actual people, places or happenings is purely coincidental.

Edited by Robin Littell

Cover Design by Katie Olson

1

The Washington DC wintertime threw bitter air in hard gusts across the empty streets outside Soldier Sam's, a tavern frequented by many military personnel. Fort Meade was just a stone's throw from the little pub, so it never ran low on business. But, on this freezing evening, the tavern would receive a kind of visitor it had never before seen.

A slender man with long, unruly locks of faded black hair and a goatee to match walked across the street towards the bar entrance. There wasn't a bouncer for this place, too low key and far too small to afford a luxury like that, exactly what this black-haired man was looking for. He hid much of his body behind long, dark trousers and a thick military coat reminiscent of the Vietnam era. His swept up hair shielded his face from the cold, but the man's hands were exposed to the elements. His left hand hung idle by his side, while the other was wrapped around a long, black guitar case.

The thin man entered the tavern and was encircled by the unsupervised orchestration of slurred and loud voices. Most of the large pub was taken up by the massive bar placed in the center of the room. Some tables lined the walls and others were scattered about the free space. The whole area looked like it would be a mess without all the drunk and disorderly people inhabiting it.

The man scanned the room and found a short table near a corner to set his case on. As he fiddled with the locks, the man ignored the tomfoolery surrounding him and hummed to himself. He figured that during this process he would be noticed by someone among the three dozen people crammed into this dark little place. It didn't take long.

Hey, a man called to him from the bar, this guy's gotta a guitar here, he said, You gonna play us a song?

The slender man ignored the loud-talker at the bar and kept on his business. He knew that this would agitate the man and that was what he wanted. Although he preferred stealth for these sorts of things, the man never could resist the sight of people's faces as they watched him prepare. They had no idea what would hit them even though it was seconds away.

You hear me, guy? The man walked a few steps from the bar, stumbling. He was talking far louder now, enough to pull more people's eyes towards them. You gonna play a song or what then?

The long-haired man's hums turned to soft singing as he unclasped the final lock to the guitar case. Still ignoring the drunk man, he opened the case and looked down into it. From this angle, no one else could see in.

You listenin'? The man from the bar took another step forward. I'm talkin' to ya!

The man behind the case sang the soft tones of You Are My Sunshine. The blubbering of the drunk man before him drowned most of it out. But, the man behind the case didn't mind. A few ears caught his muttering rendition of the song. That was all that mattered.

The man took the time to finish the familiar rhyme before looking up at the man standing before him. It was now he'd realized just how much of the bar had gotten wind of the quarrel. Even the bartender was watching with a troubled eye.

What the fuck are you talkin' about? the drunkard hissed.

Good night sunshine, the man behind the case said with a smile before lifting a short-barreled, pump-action shotgun from the guitar case and shifting it to the man before him. With a twitch of the finger, the weapon ignited the room with fear, and sent buckshot shredding through the man who, only seconds ago, was demanding a delightful guitar solo from his killer. One shot gone.

The man pump-loaded another shell before people moved. He could see through the crowd that the bartender was reaching beneath the counter. It took a split moment to aim the weapon again and fire off another round. The blast splintered part of the bar counter and shattered countless bottles on the shelves behind the bar. As for the tender in between the counter and those shelves, whatever he was reaching for would never be seen. Second shot gone.

By the time the third shell was in the chamber of the weapon, one person was charging the table while most others piled towards the front door. He was a bulky, tall man in loose military fatigues. Someone trained to run into hell while others ran out. But even courage can't stop bullets. When the shotgun blast struck him, he fell to the floor immediately, sliding to a stop just inches shy of the thin man's table. Third shot gone.

The next three blasts came in quick succession into the crowd of people trying to deluge out a trickle-sized door. Several more bodies fell, although the man behind the weapon couldn't tell if they were casualties or wounded. He had no time to check. His weapon was now empty.

Dropping the shotgun back into the guitar case, his hands returned with two .45 caliber pistols, one in each hand. He knew the magazines weren't long, but they would survive him through any more rogue civilians or hero militants. By the time he had the dual weapons raised, many people had already gotten out of the bar and into the cold streets. The few that were unlucky enough to be stuck behind had to face a barrage of pistol fire as they fled. One round struck a patron in the shoulder, far from lethal. Another shot caught a woman just shy of the door in the head. She toppled onto the ground, halfway in the bar and halfway out, her corpse became a doorstop for any remaining souls.

In a matter of moments, the pub had emptied. The only person still standing in the room was the man with the long, black hair, the big guns, and the will to kill. The man set the pistols back into the case and shut it. As he came around his table and towards the door, he pulled the case off the table with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other. He pulled a small bullet from his pocket and dropped it to the floor. Nine millimeter, different from anything he'd fired off that night, any cop worth their salts would spot it.

He left the bar quickly. The nearest police station wasn't for a few miles, but they'd be around soon either way. When he returned to the cold, dark reality of outdoors, he saw what he expected to see. Despite the amount of people leaving the bar, many of them were already out of sight and gone. The road was just as desolate as he'd left it when he'd gone in.

Taking a quick look down both lanes before crossing the street, the man took to a swift stroll away from the bar. He could hear sirens blaring far in the distance, but they were at least three minutes off. By then, he would be too far gone to catch. Despite his quick pace, the man walked in confidence, whistling Sunshine jovially to himself as he went.

2

Meandering into work on a frigid morning, Kellen Monello expected to see what she normally saw around this time of year. Each winter, her co-workers always bundled up with large coats and thick hats. She managed the weather with her thin FBI coat and the occasional hat. Everyday she showed up on cold mornings like this one, she'd get looks from the rest of the office, silently wondering just how she could survive the cold in such light clothes. But, on this morning, nobody even gazed in her general direction. All eyes were on TV's and computer screens. This morning was unique, seeming darkly different.

Once she'd dropped her laptop and jacket at her desk, Kellen made her way to a nearby group of agents. She hoped to get some insight to all the mutterings. They were all so enamored with their talk they took almost thirty seconds to realize she was even next to them.

Oh, hey Monello, one of the older agents in the group greeted her before getting back into the talk. He was the onlyone to acknowledge her.

What are we all talking about? she asked, curious and a bit miffed nobody was letting her into the loop.

You don't know? another agent finally chimed in, switching gazes between their phone screen and Kellen.

Know what?

There's been a big shooting up by Fort Meade, the older agent answered. Something like seven or eight people dead.

Jesus, really? Right at the base? Kellen couldn't believe it.

Nah, the agent holding the smart phone said, it was at this bar down the road, but a lot of soldiers got caught in it. Tragedy for sure.

Yeah, Kellen said, looking into Don's office to see him sitting rather idly at his desk, tragedy.

After that, Kellen was quick to move away from the group. They didn't seem to pay much mind to her presence. She wasn't much for group talk anyway. It was a perk of working in that department that they didn't have a water cooler for people to congregate at.

Stalling at Don's open doorway, she tapped at the doorframe to get his attention. As much as she wanted to walk in like she did some of the time, she knew that he hated it. Besides, it was a luxury she wanted to save for emergencies.

What do you need, Kellen? Don wondered, looking down at papers on his desk. It's onlynine o'clock, what could've gone wrong?

I'm just wondering what this Fort Meade thing is all about, she replied. Do you know anything.

He looked up. You don't watch much news, do you?

Too much bias everywhere, I choose to stay out.

Lack of insider information is the price you pay for that. And I'm sure as hell not going to be your glorified newspaper. I've got work to do.

You can't give me anything? You know I'm just gonna waste time at my desk looking it up anyway, she said playfully, although she knew that it was true.

Some psycho with some serious firepower walked into a bar, killed seven people, wounded twelve.

Any active duty military?

Five dead were active.

Jesus, it kinda sounds like-

Don't say it, we've got people on it already. If the guy has an agenda, we'll figure it out.

"Has? Does that mean this asshole is still alive and well?"

Not only that, he's at large. Son of a bitch is a ghost.

How does someone shoot up a bar, kill five active duty soldiers, two other people, and just walk away?

Your guess is as good as mine, Kellen. Now go to work, you have other killers to catch.

Something makes me think this killer might be the one to catch soon, Kellen said to herself as she walked out of Don's office.

As soon as she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, Kellen's previous proclamation came true. The first place she went was a local news website and hit the first link to the story about the shooting. Bias or no bias, she was engrossed.

First came the pictures. All the media could manage were photos of the bar from the outside, surrounded by police cars and yellow tape. It was a tiny place, such close quarters would need someone confident, someone sure that nobody would run up on them. In such tight spaces, there wouldn't be much reaction time against any would-be hero, especially in a bar full of soldiers.

After the photos and introduction came the eyewitness interviews and quotations. To Kellen, these were the most haunting part. People spoke liked they'd just come out of a war. They said there was an altercation between the shooter and a patron, and then the shooting started. Even those who'd served overseas previously said it was like nothing they'd heard or seen. They all spoke of nonstop shooting, chaos, fear, all compacted into this little pub.

Then came the more in depth quotes, people right next to the action before it all went down. They