The Mourning Missed Read online

  The Mourning Missed

  A Lilly Jackson Novel

  J. Don Wright

  Also by J. Don Wright

  Lilly Jackson Series

  The Mourning Missed (Coming Soon)

  Soul Reader

  Behold !

  Standalone

  The Book of Enoch: Lucky 7

  Walther Thompson: Galactic Private Investigator

  The God Algorithm

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also By J. Don Wright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

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  Also By J. Don Wright

  About the Author

  For all the Public Service heroes in my life; past, present, and future. Thank you for keeping us safe and rescuing us when we weren't.

  This story contains intimate adult situations. It is written using common street language appropriate to the time and place and the main character's upbringing. It is not meant to offend or stereotype anyone. I hope you find it entertaining.

  One

  “ALL RIGHT, BOYS AND girls, this is your third week; time to get physical,” the crusty middle-aged trainer bellowed from the entrance to the sparring room. “I am Master Sergeant Bacchus, your hand-to-hand combat instructor. If you have time, look up my namesake. But for now, it’s time to separate the girls from the boys, and send the boys home.”

  Striding into the center of the room, his posture and motion matched his crisp, no-nonsense speech. Everything about him said he would not tolerate disrespect. Glaring at the line of male candidates lining one wall, he pointed to the tallest one, a smirking brute perhaps five inches over six feet. His command voice snapped against the high concrete walls. “You; on the line.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned to the opposite wall where all the female candidates stood. Some had their arms folded beneath their breasts while others were busy shaking their limbs out to loosen up. Lilly stood at the end of the line, apart from even the females.

  She was four inches shorter than the next smallest female, and seven inches shorter than the smallest male. In fact, she had been required to sign an injury waiver before they would even allow her onto the premises. It still rankled, but she was here and that’s all that mattered.

  “You,” the trainer snapped, pointing at Lilly. “On the line.”

  “Well, of course,” Lilly muttered as she strode purposefully up to her sparring partner. Her nose was even with his sternum, and he grinned maliciously down at her. She chose not to look up, but rather stared silently straight ahead. His rancid butt odor was strong enough to gag her but she chose instead to just breathe through her mouth.

  “You may think size means something on the streets. I’m here to tell you, I’d rather fight two men my own size who relied only on their brute strength than one man his size who had skills,” he said, pointing to the smallest man on the wall. “To prove my point, this will be the only full contact sparring that occurs during your training. Is that completely understood?”

  “Yes, sergeant,” all the recruits chanted.

  “Alright, Ho Ho, what’s your name?” Sergeant Bacchus asked.

  “Carmichael, sir,” the giant replied in a loud baritone while grimacing at the unwelcome moniker.

  “Carmichael, are you wearing your cup?” The senior trainer asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “Very good.” Turning to Lilly, the trainer looked dead-pan and asked. “Name?”

  “Jackson, sir.”

  “Very well then, Cadet Jackson, take him out.”

  Immediately, Lilly’s right hand flew up from her side in a looping downward jab. She was aiming for the midpoint between the navel and pelvic bone, and she had to estimate. Her intended target was a place in the air just behind his knees, and she intended to drive her tiny fist through his gut in order to get there. Her aim was accurate, and she bladder-punched the lurking fool before he could even react. All the air came out of him in a high-pitched scream as he collapsed to the floor and curled up in a fetal position. A growing spread of darkness around him on the mat and an acrid stench was evidence Lilly had struck true; the beast had pissed himself.

  BACCHUS PULLED HER aside after he and another trainer had taken them through the three moves they were to practice on each other repeatedly for the remainder of the session. The class count was 41, and no one had wanted to partner with her after the earlier demonstration. Carmichael was busy pulverizing his partner. It was obvious he was taking his embarrassment out on the hapless man.

  “Carmichael, I said the first demonstration was to be the only full-contact display, did I not?”

  “Yes, sir,” the goliath said, standing over his opponent who was lying on the mat holding his throbbing ribs and gasping for air.

  “One more display like that and you’re out on your ass. I’ll not have you costing the city a fortune because you can’t control your temper,” he cautioned.

  “Yes, sir,” Carmichael replied dejectedly.

  Turning back to Lilly, the glimmer of a smile ghosted across his mouth for only an instant. “Have you had military training?” Bacchus asked her. She shook her head no.

  “What martial arts style are you belted in?” He tried again.

  “I could never afford classes,” she replied evenly.

  “Then pray tell, where did you learn the bladder-punch?” The senior trainer demanded.

  “I was the oldest and only girl in a family of six kids,” she explained. “I didn’t hit four foot ten until I was a junior in high school. Every one of my brothers was bigger than me by the time the youngest was nine. The only way I held my own was to fight dirty and be faster. I also learned to hide in places they couldn’t reach me. The Academy was my first and only opportunity to get out of that wretched house.”

  “So, you’re how old?” Bacchus asked.

  “Twenty,” Lilly replied. “They held me back a year in the sixth grade when my momma died. I’ll turn 21 two days before I graduate.”

  “You mean, if you graduate,” he replied.

  “Oh, I’m going to graduate,” she assured him.

  “Well, then, maybe I need to teach you some manners.”

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, this is the AR-15. It is capable of rapid fire in semi-automatic mode. It fires a little bitty bullet, but don’t let that fool you. Does anyone know the formula for force?” The Rangemaster asked her class of plebes.

  One brave soul raised his hand and the female weapons instructor pointed to him. “Force equals mass times velocity or acceleration due to gravitational pull,” he quoted from the manual.

  “Exactly,” she smiled. “So, if one bullet weighs 150 grains and travels at 1300 feet per second, while another bullet weighs 55 grains and travels at 3600 feet per second, which has more force?”

&n
bsp; “They’re about the same, Sgt Andersen,” the same student replied.

  “Excellent, another correct answer. So if they’re the same, why use the smaller one instead of the bigger?”

  A hand shot up from another male student in the rear of the classroom.

  “Impress me,” she said.

  “The 150 grain is probably a 7.62 mm, or civilian 308,” he explained. “Although the 308 has serious knock-down energy, it also has a tendency to over-penetrate. The 5.56 mm is designed to become ballistically unstable upon impact with any solid object. It therefore redirects its energy into tangential depletion, minimizing over-penetration and collateral damage.”

  “Superior answer,” she effused, chuckling. “Are you a shooter?”

  “Yes, ma’am, my father and I reload our own ammo and I learned a lot working with him,” the cadet replied.

  “Is your father a police officer?” the sergeant asked.

  “No ma’am, retired Army Ranger,” the young man answered proudly.

  “What’s your name, cadet?” she asked kindly.

  “Tealey, ma’am,” he replied with a grin.

  “Any other reason why we would use the smaller round versus the large?” She asked the class in general. “Tealey, you can’t answer any more questions,” she smiled as he started to raise his hand again.

  A shy hand came slowly out of the center of the room. The young female cadet looked torn between displaying her knowledge and being in the spotlight. “Yes?” The sergeant asked.

  “They’re heavier, so the same number of bullets weighs significantly more,” the shy cadet offered.

  “It’s good to see some of you have been doing your homework,” the instructor said sarcastically. “For the rest of you, we’re going to show you how to field-strip and clean the AR-15. You three who gave me answers; go into the armory and start bringing out the rifles, two at a time. Carry them by the handles on top, like this, barrels pointing forward,” she demonstrated, holding the weapon at her side like a briefcase.

  As they hustled out, another hand came up in the back. “Yes?” She answered.

  “Begging your pardon ma’am, but aren’t you going to demonstrate how to ensure the weapon is cleared and safed before we’re allowed to handle them?” The latest voice asked.

  Just then, the three returned to the open doorway of the classroom. “Ma’am, the Armory is locked.”

  “Well, of course it is. And if you had read all the lesson, instead of just the sexy part, you would have known that,” she smiled.

  LATER, ON THE FIRING line, several of the students struggled to obtain an adequate sight picture and were shooting their target as well as the ones on either side of them. A few had handled long-guns before and did adequately. Lilly asked repeatedly for clarification about the procedures until she was satisfied with every aspect of how the placement of rounds on the intended target worked. After two preliminary attempts to get the feel for the function, she proceeded to place the remaining 48 of her target rounds in the same chewed-out hole.

  “You’re sure you’ve never done this before? Never fired a rifle?” The Rangemaster asked in amazement, holding up her target with a ragged hole in the center the size of a tennis ball.

  “No, ma’am,” Lilly replied. “Until today, I’ve never even held a firearm.”

  “Then how do you explain your level of proficiency?” The instructor demanded.

  “Your instructions were exact and thorough,” Lilly replied. “I only did precisely what you told me to do.”

  When they moved on to the pistol range, Lilly displayed the same innate ability to perform. She displayed the truest form on the mechanics of marksmanship. Her downfall was the riot gun.

  “I can’t handle the recoil,” she complained. “It’s brutal.”

  “Yes, for someone your size it would be,” the instructor replied. “But you have to fire the prerequisite 25 rounds just like everyone else. As you’ll be allowed to personalize certain aspects of your weapons, I would suggest you invest in a padded shock absorber. They’re not very expensive and it sure will save your shoulder.”

  “NO, YOUR ARM HAS TO come down and across the forearms at the elbow,” Bacchus repeated the demonstration for the third time. “Why is this particular move so difficult for you to get, Lilly? You’re way better than this.”

  “I just can’t seem to keep the steps straight in my mind, Sarge,” she replied. “I prefer simple one or two-strike sets. This is almost like dancing.”

  “Unless a perp is putting up one hell of a fight, or threatening death or serious bodily harm, you can’t use many of the street-fighting skills you have,” Sergeant Bacchus explained again. “You do that and you’re off the force, with the city probably paying a huge out-of-court settlement for police brutality; if you’re lucky.”

  “Okay, show me again,” Lilly said in frustration.

  Every spare moment when the head trainer was available, Lilly was working with him. Her darker skin hid many of the bruises. The limping and favoring of arms after sprains were obvious to every other cadet. Some believed he was trying to make her quit, while others saw it as favoritism. Some rumors held they were doing more than sparring together.

  Three weeks later, 29 cadets graduated and earned their patrolman’s badge. Carmichael wasn’t one of them; Lilly was. Graduating at the top of the class, she did so with the grudging admiration of every class member and open approval of all the instructors. Her secret, when many eventually asked, was that she left it all on the mats, practice field, and firing range. Every effort got everything she had.

  Two

  “MY GOD, LILLY, YOUR killing me,” Clint gasped as he reached for her again.

  “Ah, ah, no touching yet,” she said as she slowly, maddeningly, slid her wetness along the length of him. Settling her naked hips atop his, she rocked her pelvis forward and back, stroking his sensitive flesh with hers. The sensation sent chills and fire racing up and down her spine. “You bet me you could refrain from touching me until I gave you permission, as long as I didn’t take you in.”

  “I’ve...never had...never felt...anything like...this before,” Clint panted. He was so near the edge of control, he was gritting his teeth in desperation. So focused on holding out, he failed to see Lilly pick up the tumbler of ice water on the night stand. Rising suddenly to her feet in the middle of the queen bed, she poured the contents on his crotch and over his stomach to his chest.

  Screaming like a little girl, Clint leapt from the bed, gasping now in a completely different way. His heart struggled valiantly to maintain something which resembled normal sinus rhythm. Failing, he fainted and collapsed across the foot of the bed.

  Lilly stepped from the bed onto the deep pile carpet and leaned over to palpate his jugular. The hard muscles of his neck backed up the carotid artery well and she felt a firm, steady pulse. Walking naked into the kitchen, she poured herself another goblet full of the sweet red wine they had been drinking all afternoon.

  Two empty bottles of Sparks Deep Fork Red sat next to the recently opened one; she drank deeply. Eyes closed, she savored the heavily-spiced body of the liquid, so much like the sacramental wine of her youth. A groan from the next room signaled Clint was returning to the present world and she lightly pranced into the room as he opened his eyes and tried to focus.

  “What in the hell do you call that?” He demanded petulantly.

  “That’s my version of the Chinese Water Torture,” she smiled smugly. “Now, admit you were wrong and that you just can’t live without me, and I’ll let you have me doggie style.”

  “I was wrong, I will never second-guess your abilities again, either in bed or out,” he said softly, nearly groveling.

  “Are you sure you can get it up?” She smirked.

  As he stood from the bed, his answer rose with him. “What do you think?” He asked.

  “I think you’re well equipped,” Lilly replied, climbing into the center of the bed and positioning herself on her han
ds and knees. “Show me you know how to use it.”

  Clint’s pasty white flesh, except where the sun had bronzed his arms and neck, was a stark contrast to Lilly’s dark caramel skin. Add her heart-shaped face and almond eyes, with irises as black as coal, and she was a striking beauty. Had she been more than an even five feet tall, she would have been high fashion material. As it was, she was a Plebe in the Montrose City Police Academy.

  Kneeling behind her on the bed, Clint shivered in anticipation at the visual spectacle of his harsh white skin against her smooth golden brown backside. Positioning himself, he plunged in up to the hilt. Lilly screamed in raw pleasure and Clint rode her with abandon.

  AFTERWARD, THEY ATE the Chinese takeout they’d picked up on the way to the motel. Both were now fully dressed and seated in the small motel room on the one available chair and the corner of the bed. Lilly sat with her legs curled under her in the chair while Clint slouched on the rumpled and disheveled bed.

  “You do realize if they find us out we could both be expelled from the Academy and kiss our careers goodbye,” Clint remarked.

  “Actually, I’ve read the student handbook completely; twice,” Lilly replied. “Although it discourages fraternization between Plebes, it does not expressly forbid it. There is another section in the Standards of Conduct which is sort of a catch all. It cautions against any act which might embarrass or bring discredit to the Montrose City Police Department. That’s probably what they’d get us on.”

  “So, are you leaving first again, or should I?” Clint asked casually.

  “Who said anything about leaving?” She replied, standing up in the chair. “It’s three hours to curfew, and I want some more of you.” She was releasing the buttons on her blouse in a slow strip-tease.

  Clint colored slightly before chuckling nervously. “You’ve got no qualms about asking for what you want, do you?”

  “Why? Is a woman who isn’t timid about sex offensive to your delicate white-boy sensibilities?” She snickered. “Where I was raised, women have as much right to talk about being horny as men,” she explained, sliding the soft silk blouse slowly off her shoulders.