Second Chances Read online

  Second

  Chances

  George Lee Miller

  Frio Press LLC

  © 2020 George Lee Miller. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7341564-3-0

  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-7341564-5-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-7341564-4-7

  Cover design by Lance Buckley

  Interior design by Lisa Gilliam

  Published by Frio Press LLC 2020

  For Kyle and Ruby and all that is just and true and good.

  “Even as I have seen, they that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same.”

  —Job 4:8

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Coming Soon…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Maya Chavez and her new friend Lori Kostoch held hands to keep from falling as they raced down a narrow dirt path that led to a secluded beach on the Pedernales River. The girls wore cutoff jean shorts, flip-flops, and T-shirts over the skimpy bikinis they hoped would turn heads at the party. It was August and still warm despite being close to midnight. There was a new moon, and the Central Texas sky was clear and far enough from any big city for the Milky Way to blanket the heavens with pinpoints of light.

  Maya carried a red-and-white canvas tote bag she’d been given at senior registration. It was stenciled with the stylized head of a billy goat, their high school mascot. Inside was a bottle of cheap vodka she’d stolen from her mother’s closet and two plastic quarts of lemonade that Maya insisted was the best thing to use for mixer.

  The girls were in a hurry because they were late for the party. It was Maya’s fault. She had to wait until her grandparents were asleep before she could sneak out. They hustled toward the glow of a bonfire on the horizon and the sound of a strong bass beat. The well-worn trail wound through cactus and mesquite brush like a white snake in the dark.

  Maya’s foot slipped on a loose rock, and Lori caught her before she could fall.

  “Don’t break the bottle,” Lori said, pulling Maya upright.

  “I’ve got it,” Maya said, holding the bag proudly above her shoulder. “Besides, it’s plastic.” She reached into the bag and brought out the vodka bottle.

  Lori noticed the seal was cracked and there was an inch of clear liquid missing. “You started without me.”

  “It was like that. I didn’t drink any,” Maya protested. She stole the booze to impress Lori and the other students at her new school. She was a transfer student from San Bernardino, California, and hadn’t told anyone she was actually born and raised in Fredericksburg. She liked being known as the chick from Cali.

  Lori took a drink. “Gross.”

  “You have to mix it with lemonade,” Maya explained.

  Maya had been reluctant to go to the party because it was so far outside of town, but Lori said the river was where everybody went. Kids had been partying there for as long as anybody could remember because it was isolated—if the local cops tried to bust them, it was easy to escape. Besides, Lori explained, the senior guys would be there. Maya didn’t think much of the local boys but decided to go along. Lori was the only friend she’d made since her mother had dragged her back to Fredericksburg to be near her grandparents.

  Maya had to sneak out, but she didn’t care. Her grandparents were too strict. It was like they lived in a different century. No one had to be home by ten anymore. She’d never had a curfew in California because her mom was always passed out by ten and left her to do whatever she wanted.

  The girls paused to catch their breath on the sandy bluff overlooking the wide bend in the river. The opposite side was a stone’s throw away and chock-full of willows and cottonwood trees. In the late summer, the water level was low, but the bend formed a pool that was nearly always at least four feet deep and perfect for swimming. The beach side of the river was covered with twenty yards of sand scattered with white limestone rocks that glowed yellow in the firelight.

  “I thought this was a senior party,” Maya said, studying the figures around the bonfire. She didn’t recognize anyone from registration.

  “It is,” Lori said. “Don’t worry, the guys we want to impress will be here.”

  “You mean Owen?” Maya teased as she followed Lori down the bluff to the sandy beach.

  “What?” Lori pretended innocence. She was trying to impress Owen Bauer, not only with the tiny bikini but by promising to bring Maya, the new girl from Cali. Owen was a senior on the football team, and Lori’d been trying to get his attention since she was a sophomore.

  “Don’t what me. I saw you talking to him at registration,” Maya said and poured some of the clear vodka into the lemonade bottle and shook it up. “That’s how it’s done,” she said. She had a lot of practice mixing drinks for her mother. “Here, take a drink.”

  Lori hesitated.

  Maya pushed the bottle to her lips. “Come on, it’s a party, right?”

  Lori took a drink. “Tastes like lemonade.”

  “It’s supposed to, stupid,” Maya scolded her. “What do you guys drink out here, beer?”

  “Yeah,” Lori said.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  Maya focused her attention on the guys circled around the bonfire.

  “Watch this,” Maya said. She set the bag in the sand and slipped out of her T-shirt. Her bikini was bright red, with spaghetti straps and triangles of thin cloth that barely contained her small breasts. The girls had giggled while they were trying the suits on at the mall in San Antonio. They knew the impression they would make and the looks they would get. The style was Maya’s idea. She said it was what all the girls
in California were wearing.

  “Come on. Your turn,” Maya teased.

  “Give me some of that,” Lori said, reaching for the vodka mix. She took a drink for courage, then pulled her T-shirt off, revealing a strapless kelly-green bikini that was similar to Maya’s.

  One of the boys from the firepit walked toward them. He was six feet tall with an angular body and muscular arms. He had a shock of disheveled blond hair that covered his ears and reached to his suntanned shoulders. Around his neck he wore a braided shell necklace.

  “Hey, Lori,” the boy said when he got closer. “Didn’t think y’all ’d show.”

  “Told ya we’d be here,” Lori shouted over the loud music. “I brought Maya.”

  Maya arched her back so that the teen boy could get a good look at her swimwear.

  “Wow!” His eyes settled on her bikini top.

  Lori slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey,” she shouted. “What about me?”

  He put his arms around Lori and kissed her. “Easy, you did good,” he shouted. “Did you bring the booze?”

  Lori nodded. “Maya got it.”

  He put his arms around each girl’s waist and led them toward the bonfire. “Come on over to the fire. Y’all can’t have any fun standing out here in the dark.”

  The music was deafening. The throbbing bass vibrated deep in Maya’s bones. She expected to see familiar faces. Instead, she saw a group of men in their twenties. They wore long shorts that sagged well below their waists. A few wore wife-beater T-shirts. Most were bare-chested, showing off a collection of tattoos. They were circled around two older-looking women in sequined bikinis who gyrated their hips as if they were on stage at a strip club. This wasn’t what she expected.

  One of the men broke away from the pack. His blond hair was long and tied in a thick ponytail. He was bigger than the others, and his hairless skin was bulky with muscles and covered with tattoos. The most dominant one was a red-and-green dragon that wrapped around his chest. The head of the beast was above his right breast, and red tongues of fire shot down his chiseled six-pack abs.

  “This is the Dragon,” Owen shouted above the music. “Maya brought vodka.” Owen held up Maya’s bottle.

  The Dragon grabbed it and took a gulp. “Nasty,” he said, and smiled, looking directly at her red bikini top. His voice was a raspy baritone. He made no attempt to hide his stare.

  Maya felt the skin on her neck and cheeks turn red and hoped the others didn’t notice in the dark. She wondered if she’d taken her Cali Chick image too far.

  “You look like you’re ready to party, girl,” the Dragon said. He took Maya by the wrist and turned her in a circle like he was handling a child. His powerful hands grabbed one wrist and then the other like she was a marionette being spun on a string.

  She was repulsed and excited at the same time. He had an alpha-male cockiness that gave him total control of everything around him, nothing like the high school boys here or in California.

  “Take off your shorts,” the Dragon said. It wasn’t a request.

  Maya glanced again at Lori, who had taken a step back and stood beside Owen.

  “Come on, girl. Show me what you got,” he demanded.

  There was no way to turn back now. She wanted to fit in more than anything and hated the feeling of being an outsider in a new school again. She thought it was some kind of test for the new kids, and she was determined to show them she could pass.

  Three or four of the other men gathered around Maya and waited for her to strip out of her shorts. She smiled, hiding her nervousness, and unbuttoned the top button of her jean shorts. Two of the men tilted their heads back and howled like wolves.

  The Dragon grabbed Lori and tossed her beside Maya. “You too, girl,” he shouted.

  Lori looked to Owen for support, but he just smiled. Lori undid a button on her shorts. Maya suddenly wished she had gone with the more modest version of a swimsuit. The one she first tried on had come up over her hips and covered a lot more skin. She’d only suggested the tiny version because she though Lori would say no.

  With one quick movement, she pulled the cutoffs down over her butt and let them fall to the sand. Lori did the same.

  All the men howled, then closed in around her. A hand grabbed the string that held the tiny red top around her neck. She crossed her arms as the flimsy material suddenly slipped down. The men laughed. She smelled them now. All around her. Body sweat and cheap cologne. One of them slapped her butt. A hand tugged the string holding her bikini bottom. Her throat was tight. She felt panic. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Maya clung to the bikini bottom with one hand and held her other arm across her breasts. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t make a sound.

  Someone grabbed her hair.

  Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The Dragon was beside her. The man who had grabbed her hair was on the ground, bleeding from his nose.

  The Dragon put his hands on her shoulders. “Sorry. These dudes’re animals.” He picked up her shorts and handed them to her.

  “Thank you,” Maya whispered and pulled her shorts back on.

  The Dragon lit a joint and inhaled a huge breath, holding the smoke in his lungs for what seemed like a full minute. When he let it out, he smiled and handed the joint to Maya.

  Maya hesitated. She’d tried it before, in California. Everybody did it at her old high school. She put the joint to her lips and inhaled deeply, imitating the man’s actions. She tried to hold in the smoke, coughed violently. This stuff was stronger than any she had ever tried.

  The Dragon laughed. “You gotta relax your throat, girl,” he said, and brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder. His smile was warm and friendly.

  She tried the joint again. This time she followed his advice. Maya looked around the bonfire for Lori. She glanced toward the river and in the shadows of the bluff, but Lori was gone. It was strange, but now she didn’t care. She felt herself relax. A warm sensation slowly crept from her head to her fingers and toes.

  “You’re the Cali girl?” the Dragon asked, as if she was the only one on the beach.

  “That’s right,” she said, smiling for the first time since she’d been back to Texas.

  The Dragon put his thick, powerful arm around her.

  Chapter One

  Iopened my eyes to generations of Fischer ancestors staring down at me from dark photographs lining the ancient limestone walls of my small childhood bedroom. Some were tintypes, some sepia tone, some black and white, and others were color prints yellowed with age. All the faces were stern and unsmiling. I had read once that the firm expressions in old photographs were the result of the extended period of time it took to expose the film. The subjects had to pick a pose they could hold, or risk blurring the image. As a kid, I always thought the old folks were frowning at me because they could somehow read my mind and disapproved of whatever scheme I was cooking up to escape my ranch duties. For a time, I thought Grandpa had hung the pictures in my bedroom to make me feel guilty, then I realized that he had slept in the same room as a boy. I wondered if the photos made him feel guilty or if guilt was just a trait that ran in the Fischer family. It was one of the many things I never got a chance to ask him before he was murdered.

  The photos stretched back over the 150-year history of my family in Texas and covered every wall in the house. I wondered if my picture would one day be on the wall, and if my grandson would one day see it from this angle. I was the last of the Fischer line, and I was sleeping in my childhood bed after a fifteen-year absence because I’d been wounded on my last case and needed downtime. The anchor of the family, my grandpa, had also taken a bullet. He didn’t make it. Continuing the family tradition fell on my shoulders. So far, I hadn’t been able to hold onto a girlfriend long enough to add any more branches to the family tree. My Fischer Private Investigations business took all my time and energy.

  The sound of silverware being placed on a wooden table downstairs
reminded me there was someone else in the house—an uninvited guest who was disrupting my planned rehabilitation. It was two weeks after my grandfather’s funeral. Family and friends had drifted back to their own houses, leaving me to recuperate and deal with the family land. I was the only direct descendent, and Grandpa, God rest his soul, had left a will granting me rights to the house and property.

  “Breakfast!” Helen, my uninvited guest, yelled from the downstairs kitchen.

  The smell of pancakes and sausage mixed with coffee permeated every room in the house. She must have gotten up before sunrise to have everything done before I woke up. I was normally an early riser, but the gunshot wound courtesy of a corrupt state politician had altered my normal routine. I ended his life, but not before he wreaked havoc on my partner and my family.

  Helen hadn’t bothered to show up for my father’s funeral when I was sixteen. But she felt compelled to show up for Grandpa’s, and I got the feeling she wanted to stay. Not just the night but indefinitely. Something about wanting to take care of me, at least until I got on my feet. The wounds were sore as hell, but I was able to move around and didn’t feel like I needed any help, especially from a woman who hadn’t been around to take care of me since the seventh grade.

  “Nicky, are you gonna sleep all day?” she yelled again. She sounded like she used to when I was in elementary school.

  What irritated me the most was that when she called me Nicky, I felt like I was back in third grade trying to think of an excuse to skip school. It added to the odd feeling of seeing my ancestors staring down at me from the limestone walls. They all seemed to want the answer to one burning question: What’s next? Would I keep the family ranch and stay in my old hometown, or would I sell out and return to San Antonio? Would I continue my private eye business after nearly being killed on my last case, or return to law enforcement, or maybe finish my last year of law school and pursue a less dangerous profession?

  If I sold out, I wouldn’t have to worry about maintaining the ranch or paying the taxes. On the other hand, the property had been in the family for five generations. If I did keep it, I wouldn’t be able to make a living raising goats and cattle. Small farms and ranches were a thing of the past unless the land had oil and gas. The Fischer ranch had plenty of deer, hogs, and cedar brush, but no bubblin’ crude. I would have to get back to San Antonio and start lining up paying clients or pursue another day job.