The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind. First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer. And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.
Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected. Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973? Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well? How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?
What starts out as an almost innocent prank, turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All, while he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.
Chapter 1
After sixty-four years, I was about to crack my first safe. Or, at least give it my best shot. I hoped I was a natural. I should be, if a name has any influence. My grandfather, Fredrick Martin, had insisted my father, Franklin, name me Fred. My full name is Jimmy Fred Martin. I was named after actor Jimmy Hanley who played Fred Martin in the 1954 movie, Radio Cab Murder. The police used him to go undercover to help catch a gang of safe robbers.
I parked my borrowed truck behind Julia Street United Methodist Church and walked with my bag of tools to the back door of the Whitman House at 200 Thomas Avenue. Edward Fenns Whitman, a businessman, served as Boaz’s first mayor in 1896. In 1924, he built this brick Craftsman-style home that had been designed by prominent Birmingham architect William Leslie Welton. Many locals, mostly grandchildren of Whitman’s generation, called it the Hunt House after Dr. Marston T. Hunt who lived here after Whitman and family died or moved away. I vividly remembered Dr. Hunt as the Boaz High School football team doctor who conducted my first rectal exam during the summer of 1971, in his office across the street.
The current occupants, Elton and Rebecca Rawlins, are away on vacation, probably enjoying a quiet and star-lite night at Gulf Shores. It’s taken nearly a year for my stars to align and cast the perfect opportunity to start a part-time job. Tonight, it is pouring rain and most everyone who would brave the streets are at Boaz High School being entertained by the Drama Club’s presentation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.
I was thankful for the protection provided by the back veranda. It gave me a respite from the downpour. The sole light above the back door revealed the needed contents of the side pouch of my leather bag. In less than two minutes I was in the house and had disabled the security system. The code was provided by my silent partner, Noah Waters (yes, that’s his real name), who owns Sand Mountain Security Systems, often referred to by commenters on his Facebook Page as Ark-Saved.
If it weren’t for my grandfather I wouldn’t be here today. He was a safecracker of sorts. He worked for over sixty years at the Mosler Safe Company in Cincinnati, Ohio. Although I grew up in Boaz, I spent several weeks every summer from the time I was six or seven with Papa and Mama Martin in their large Victorian home on Mt. Adams perched high on one of Cincinnati’s seven hills. In 1972, a month after I graduated from Boaz High School, and during my regular summer-time visit, my grandfather had a heart attack and thought he was dying. It was during that time he had given me a box full of black journals he had created over the sixty years he was chief accountant at Mosler. The journals contained the make, model, and serial number of every safe his company had manufactured and sold during his long tenure.
I found the safe behind a hidden door in the library. It stood 52 inches tall, was 22 inches wide, and 27 inches deep, and weighed in, according to Granddad, at a little over five hundred pounds. The safe was right where it was supposed to be, and right where it had been since Mr. Whitman had purchased it in 1924. Not only was I lucky to have Granddad’s black journals, but I was equally thankful for my employer, Alfa Insurance Company.
My job as an insurance agent provided helpful information, especially for my new part-time job. From working with and insuring Elton and Rebecca, I had learned they possessed a valuable collection of coins and jewelry. Their homeowner’s policy also insured the safe. I was probably only a handful of people who knew that Mr. Whitman had left the Model T20 Mosler safe, serial number 52039, when he sold the house to Dr. Marston Hunt, and his heirs, in turn, did the same thing, when they sold the beautiful, historically registered home in 2007 to Elton and Rebecca Rawlins. Some things are simply too heavy to move.
Cracking the safe was easy. It helped having the combination. Although Alfa didn’t require it, I had told my clients that sharing the information might prove helpful in the event of an emergency. Now, it seemed surprising they had been so easy to convince. Even if they had changed the combination I had come prepared to dispossess my clients of their valuables. One of my favorite memories was from my summertime visit with my grandparents in 1970. That summer, Granddad showed me how to use a torch to cut a hole in the back of a safe, one big enough to reach in with a long screwdriver and remove two screws from the plate that held the locking mechanism in place. No combination was required from this side. With one flip of a tumbler bar, the entire lock-set would fall inside the safe and the front door would slide open without resistance. Having the combination saved me over an hour. Another thing I was extremely thankful for.
The most valuable jewelry was two ruby teardrop pendants and one pear-shaped ruby lever-back drop earring. Alfa insured these three items for a total of sixty-thousand dollars. The Rawlins collection of St. Gaudens Double Eagles and Liberty Dollars was extensive; thirty-three coins in all. Although Elton had requested a million dollars in coverage, Alfa had capped its exposure to half that amount.
After placing the jewelry and coins in the center pouch of my bag, I took a few minutes and explored the contents of an accordion-style folder standing along the left side of the safe. Inside were several newspaper clippings and a host of original deeds. Also, there was a mauve-colored envelope with Rebecca’s name hand-printed on the outside. I quickly opened the unsealed envelope, pulled out a single sheet of similarly-colored paper, and read the extremely short message. “Dear Rebecca: Go forth and live your life for God. Your sins are forgiven, and your secret is safe with me.” The letter was signed, “Pastor Randy.”
I could hear the rain storm subsiding, so I snapped a photo of the letter with my iPhone and reinserted the letter inside the envelope. I felt silly being so careful with the mauve-colored envelope and accordion file, especially since I was about to walk away with a small fortune in jewelry and coins. I couldn’t help but wonder what secret the former youth pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ held against Rebecca Rawlins. As I reset the alarm and relocked the back door, my mind, as it often did, offered a competing question. What if the Pastor had reneged on his promise? What if he had shared Rebecca’s secret?
My first safe-cracking adventure, so far at least, was an overwhelming success. The only mistake I had made, if you call it that, was continuing to wear my black, full-faced toboggan, all the way home. I parked inside my garage and was admiring my haul scattered out on my kitchen table when my iPhone vibrated in my pocket.
The Pencil Driven Life 