A Common Evil - A Bailey Crane Mystery - Bk. 6: Bailey Crane Mystery Series - Books 1-6, #6

Books by Billy Ray Chitwood

Fiction

*M ama’s Madness (Fiction Inspired by true events!)

*Stranger Abduction (Fiction Inspired by true event!)

*Cloud Dancer (Beautiful Love Story crossing genres)

*Phoenix Fire – (A Love Story with Suspense)

*The Reluctant Savage (Romance & Suspense)

*Hammer’s Holy Grail (Fiction: Short Stories – Love – Romance – Flash Fiction – Poetry (Compilation)

*Kentucky Kernels (Fiction: - Short Stories - Flash  Fiction - Poetry)

Non-Fiction

*The Cracked Mirror – Reflections of an Appalachian Son (90% TRUE)

*What Happens Next? A Life’s True Tale

*Joe Public’s Political Perspective

If there is interest in previewing the above books, please visit the author’s Website:

https://billyraychitwood.com

The Bailey Crane Mystery Series - Books 1-6

- Stand-alone books -

*A n Arizona Tragedy – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Bk. 1)

*Satan’s Song – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Bk. 2)

*The Brutus Gate – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Bk. 3)

*Murder in Pueblo Del Mar – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Bk. 4)

*A Soul Defiled – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Bk. 5)

*A Common Evil – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Bk. 6)

Non-Fiction

*The Cracked Mirror – Reflections of an Appalachian Son (90% TRUE)

*What Happens Next? A Life’s True Tale

*Joe Public’s Political Perspective

If there is interest in previewing the above books, please visit the author’s Website:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Dedication

To Kevin Garcia, a good ally, friend, and wise board member who always fought the good battle to make our efforts fair and equitable to all homeowners at Bella Sirena.

Enjoy with your lovely wife, Dawn, the sea and sun, my friend. 

Evil can appear so common as not to be seen.

(Billy Ray Chitwood)

Chapter One

Quietly, softly, I lift my body from the bed, trying hard not to disturb my sleeping beauty, Wendy. This is an often occurrence because I don’t sleep well. It’s been that way a long time. It’s still dark outside our condo unit and a few of our resort’s lights reflect on the Sea of Cortez. In the master bath I put on a golf shirt, my jeans, sneakers without socks, and make my way to the great room.

So I’m sitting in the great room recliner reading a Nelson DeMille book when I come to a part in the book that grabs my attention, a most sad and somber section. It makes me do a fast slide show in my mind of the bad and good choices made during my life, of the bad and good luck, of the friends and loathsome characters who have entered my life – some still around and some long gone.

Lately it’s been bothering me, this aging thing. The older I get the more of my past comes back to me, haunts and mystifies me. Sadly, being a capricious product of the old south, guilt can weigh heavily, and, yeah, I know it’s a huge waste of time. I do get a bit tired of people and their easy rejoinders of, ‘You can’t live in the past. You must live in the present.’ Well, gee whiz! I get that, and I hate the past interrupting my present. It gets triggered one way or another and it just comes. Don’t get me wrong. It’s probably not all that bad, but I do too much self-wallowing... Call it early morning reflecting and blame it on some form of insomnia.

Guess it’s natural as one gets older to go back over the follies and fun of life. Define me daffy but part of the fun was chasing the bad guys as a part-time detective, those scum receptors that muck up our days and nights with their hedonistic, sociopathic, downright criminal ways...even found myself too close to some of them, too close in the sense of liking them, almost believing their bull croppy, thinking maybe they could be better human beings.

Now, again, don’t get me wrong! I’m way far from Sainthood. I was a lotus eater of the really large kind, drank my booze, loved the ladies – the Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias way, and presented myself poorly on too many occasions. There was, and, is, some oddity in my makeup. Through a peculiar osmosis, some weighty measuring of my insides, I righted my ship and got back on a good course. My buddies at the Phoenix PD gave me a hard time about my mercurial behavior patterns and still managed to be my friends. We’re still in touch now and then. A few have come south of the border to visit me in my retirement...call it semi-retirement.

Hell, I married one of those Phoenix PD buddies! Wendy was one of the finest cops with whom to be partnered. We chased society’s rejects together, and she saw me through a heart-tugging divorce and some later affairs before we decided that her love was the only one that really mattered. She is the sanest person I know, and I love her dearly.

Ah, the thoughts of a grown man can sometimes be gagging...but it had always been so, even when the gray was not along the hair-line, when the crow’s nest and wrinkles were not visible, when the tummy pouch was not present, when charm and youth had been replaced by time and chasing bad guys. Call it these things plus the southern by-products of mobility and a lot of emotional crap... Enough said.

Yawning, about to put the book and thoughts away and give sleep another shot on the sofa, there comes a loud sharp crack and a spark of light from outside, followed by more sharp cracks and sparks of light. Having been a sleuth much of my life, it quickly comes to me that those are gun shots my ears pick up...more like a live war zone.

Bailey! the sharp yell comes from the master bedroom and Wendy where big arcadia doors are next to the king-size bed and close to the sharp cracks and sparks of light I’m now hearing.

I get up and run out of the great room to the hall leading to the bedroom when I collide with Wendy. She is crouched over as though ducking gunshots. I pull her quickly to the isolated master bath area and we sit on a long Cantera stone tile bench between the sinks and the big Jacuzzi tub.

What’s going on, Bailey? A little too early for celebrations! her query and non sequitur is uttered with an odd and wrinkled expression. I was dreaming we were...

Giving her a warm embrace, I interrupt her: I’m half afraid to assess what’s happening out there, Wen. My worst fear is that it has something to do with the Cartel business... You stay here for a few moments and let me take a look from the deck.

Will it do any good for me to try and talk you out of that? she asked sweetly.

None whatsoever, my dear, but I can assure you I will most certainly be careful.

I give her a peck on the cheek and snake back through the great room and approach the arcadia doors in a crouch.

Nothing can be seen from our condo’s fixed windows because we are on the upper floor of tower four of the five towers and villas that make up the ‘Mar y Sol’ Resort complex. It’s a huge complex with four pools, spas, and swim-up bar/grill. The resort sets on six acres of land by the Sea of Cortez. We have 200 owners in the five tower buildings and 20 owners in the 8 seaside villas and 12 interior villas. There are 6 villas on one side of the large green grass campus and 6 on the other, all beautified with lush green lawns, plants and shrubs of all kinds, 1000 varied palms, the pools, a workout gym and other amenities. A cobblestone drive runs toward the sand and surf on each side of the resort, separating the villas and condo towers. We have owners living at Mar y Sol full-time and part-time, and we have renters from the states and throughout Mexico...for those owners who wish to rent.

Our ‘Mar y Sol’ Home Owners Association had some problems in the past with renters who had not been very well vetted. Even with walled-in security, gates, and guards, it is not impossible to breach our safety measures, including 24/7 security guards and cameras at viable locations.

One other odd bit of information relating to ‘Mar y Sol’: somehow or other, I am president of the HOA.

The staccato shots still ring out as I very carefully crouch and slide open the arcadia doors. The noise factor increases considerably. Our sweeping deck has a short stucco wall with wrought iron openings, and I kneel and duck-walk to the short wall next to a wrought iron section.

There is something I find strange, almost in the eerie category. I hear few shouts of pain or protest. There are only the bursts of gunfire and flashes.  

When I raise myself for a look-see, the site appears under siege. Much of the shooting is coming from an interior villa, and through the moonlight and gun flashes I can see bodies, some moving, some on the ground, probably dead or dying. To my surprise, on one of the balconies on building 3 to my left, there is a machine gun set-up. The firing that reaches my ears is coming from pistols, semi-automatic rifles, and AK-47s. Clearly there is a strong presence of lawmen, Federales, and there are bad guys with guns, most assuredly members of the cartel.

Suddenly there are other sounds. Three Blackhawk helicopters dip and roar in from the sea, the guns aboard shooting down on precise points of the resort. It is all alarming and dramatic, like I’m privy to filming of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie...my mind stupidly thinks of True Lies. I’ve had some action and drama in my day but nothing quite as panoramic as this. The early morning sky, the color streaks from the ammo display, the distant town lights of the Pueblo del Mar port, and the shadowy figures flickering by on the ground below me, all are vivid Technicolor at its best.

For long moments I watch the battle play out, more mesmerized than gripped by fear. Somewhere behind me I hear Wendy calling me... I yell back, I’m coming! but stay fixed for more moments watching the gun display far down on the eastern edge of the resort’s grounds. Then I notice moving figures getting into a van and dashing toward the front gate area, more figures climbing over an 8-foot stucco wall to the neighboring resort.

As the rapid firing slows to periodic bursts I rise and discover that Wendy is crouched behind me at the arcadia doors. What are you doing, Wen? Get inside, please!

She gives me an instant reply: You can’t figure bullets can bend and reach us up here, Bailey-cakes. But, then, I was always more swift of mind than you.

Point made, Genius, but stray bullets can and has hit some of our towers. That scattering shrapnel can harm and maim. I grab her by the arm, and we move inside, close, lock the doors, and sit on the sofa in our great room. There are now faint, sporadic rounds of fire but it is my guess that the show is about to wind down... Of course, my clever wife handily beat me to that conclusion.

Stunned by this early morning anomaly, my thoughts turn to our homeowners and resort staff. I have to find out more clearly about the health of our people and just what the hell is going on.

I sit next to her on the sofa and hold her hand. This is new for us, Wen, but it would appear we are smack in the middle of some kind of drug war situation. My guess is we have cartel members renting one of our villas, and there are Federales all over the grounds. There are some tank-like vehicles and vans on the interior villa roads. In one instance it appeared that some bad guys tried to make it out in a van while some others went over the wall onto ‘La Pescada’s’ grounds.

Wendy starts to say something but I hold up my hand to stop her. Look, sweetheart, I believe we are perfectly safe here. I believe what we have going on is a Federale ‘sting’ on some bad guys of the cartel... I pause.

Wendy puts her head on my shoulder and strokes my leg. Kind of came to that conclusion myself, Sherlock. She lifted her face for a moment and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. I’m okay, sweetheart, don’t worry about me. I’m with you. That’s all that matters to me.

We sit there holding each other for some time, our minds traveling their own circuitous routes. When the sky brightens into its normal fantastic blue and the rippled cobalt sea gives us its twinkles, I consider my pressing obligations.

"Look, Wen, I’ve got to leave the unit for a few minutes to check on our