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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

The morning after the bombing, local talking-heads and State-wide newscasters were predicting a continuing wave of Ferguson, Missouri style rioting and destruction in Boaz and beyond.  It never happened. 

By 4:30 p.m. that afternoon, Nico and Santiago Castenada had completed over six hours visiting and speaking with 90% of the local Hispanic community.  The General Manager of Platinum Foods shut down three departments of the processing plant and allowed the two educated, reasonable, and focused nephews of Mateo Castenada to speak atop a flatbed trailer in the parking lot to a gathering of over 400 Hispanics.  The two young men shared their vision for Boaz, even disclosing details about the school that would open in less than a year.  Nico gave an impassioned speech on the importance of allowing the criminal justice system to punish those who had murdered Mateo, his wife Natamar, and their daughter Alma.  He drew on the 1960s civil right struggle of the blacks and what Martin Luther King’s vision of peace through non-violence had achieved.  Santiago promised change and implored each of them to forgo rioting and redirect their anger towards God, letting Him show them the higher road.  By dark, the message had spread.  The rioting was replaced by the sounds of righteous anger seeping from the windows and doorways of Esperanza Baptist Church.

Something else never happened.  The two bombed out businesses didn’t die.  I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Even though both Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC, and Radford Hardware & Building Supply were virtually destroyed by the bombs and fiery aftermath, they quickly announced an aggressive plan to reopen.  Each company maintained full replacement insurance policies.  New construction would begin within a month.  Bulldozers and dump trucks started cleanup less than 24 hours after the explosions.  The real ingenuity of the Adams’ was demonstrated when six car haulers showed up during the last week of July and unloaded 36 new vehicles in the parking lot of the long-empty Outlet Center.  Since the bombings, the 36 employees of the Adams’ dealership had worked tirelessly in setting up a temporary operation including a 10,000-square foot service department under a gigantic tent complete with every tool needed including four hydraulic lifts. The Radford’s followed the Adams’ lead and by mid-August had leased and stocked the empty building directly across from the GM dealership.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

By 9:00 p.m. the rioting had begun.  By 11:30, TV crews from Birmingham and Huntsville were in Boaz and broadcasting live.  Karla and I were glued to the television.  Shortly after midnight, she went to bed.  I changed clothes and drove to Oak Hollow.

Ever since my release from the Etowah County jail in March, I had been executing my plan.  It was one I had started designing after Randall’s disappearance, when I decided not to make a ransom demand.  I had also decided against demanding money when I dealt with James.  However, Gina’s unexpected disappearance and death changed my ability to eliminate him.  Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC, and Radford Hardware and Building Company, were the two largest brick and mortar financial targets of all five families.  The Hispanic rioting gave me the best opportunity to do some damage to these two old, but continuing, money presses.

My idea was simple.  The explosives were nearly identical to those used by Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols to destroy the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, on April 19, 1995. The only difference would be the size and power of the bombs.  I had no intention of killing anyone.  I only wanted to level the two city blocks controlled by the Radford’s and the Adams’.

My plan was both simple and elaborate.  I had used every opportunity when I was out of town on law business to purchase 50-pound bags of ammonium nitrate from farm and garden supply stores.  It’s funny how one doesn’t notice things if he’s not looking for them.  It seems every place I went, Heflin, Muscle Shoals, Russellville, Scottsboro, Huntsville, Moulton, Oneonta, Fort Payne, and dozens of places to and from these county seats, had one or more farm and garden stores.

I was careful.  I always paid with a different prepaid Visa card I had purchased from a Dollar General store in a different area.  And, the cards were never purchased in my name.  I had perfected the creation of false identity cards, such as driver’s licenses and health insurance cards.  For example, when buying four hundred pounds of ammonium nitrate in Oneonta, I used the Visa card I had purchased in a Dollar General store in Heflin that I had loaded cash to in Huntsville.  Also, at every location that I purchased or loaded a prepaid Visa card, or purchased ammonium nitrate or any other ingredient or item I needed to execute my plan, I rotated the disguise I used.  For example, at the Heflin farm and garden supply store, I wore a pair of dark brown coveralls, a blond wig with pony tail pulled back and tied off, a reddish blond mustache, and a Pittsburg Steelers ball cap.  I also arranged with the store clerk to set my purchase somewhere outside where I could come back and pick it up later.  I always parked a block or so away from the store and walked to make the purchase.  Within an hour or so, I would come back in my vehicle.  Sometimes, the store had already closed for the day.  Even if the store was open, I never had anyone notice me as I loaded my purchase.

I was also careful about the two box trucks I purchased.  I located them both on eBay.  The first one, a 1992 Ford F600, was in Birmingham.  It was owned by an older lady whose husband had recently died.  He had purchased it new and used it in their small appliance business.  It even had a lift-gate on the back. The lady’s daughter was helping her sell it online.  I hired a technician from Long Lewis Ford to inspect the truck.  I paid him, not his employer, $375.00 to travel to Roebuck and determine whether the vehicle was road worthy.  If it was, then he was to drive the vehicle to the Cracker Barrel restaurant at the Trussville Exit, locking it and leaving the key wedged under the inside left rear tire.  I told him I was from Chattanooga but was sending my nephew to pick up, and drive the truck to Jackson, Mississippi.  After the technician called my burner phone and gave me the go ahead, I used one of my prepaid Visa cards to pay online.  Later than night, I hired a taxi out of Gadsden to pick me up at the Eaglemart parking lot to take me to Trussville.  Wearing my best suit, I shared that I was the owner of twelve Cracker Barrel Restaurants in Tennessee and Alabama and that my car had broken down after leaving my store in Guntersville.  Everything went like clockwork.  The truck key was where it was supposed to be, the vehicle started right up, was full of gas (thanks to the technician), and performed like a new one all the way back.  At 3:30 a.m., I pulled into the barn’s center hallway at Oak Hollow and rode my previously-positioned bicycle the two miles back to Hickory Hollow. 

I had similar good luck in buying my second truck.  I had to pay more for it given my time frame and the fact I didn’t want to travel so far to drive it home.  I was tempted to again use Love’s Taxi out of Gadsden but knew that wasn’t reasonable.  This time I didn’t use a taxi service at all.  I had Doug from the Albertville Municipal Airport fly me, the real Micaden, to Auburn, Alabama.  I used the cover of a continuing legal education conference at Tichenor Hall titled “What We Can Learn from the Movies,” telling Doug that my wife was meeting me there on Friday.  In Auburn, I caught a cab to Montgomery where the 1998 Chevrolet C7500 box truck was waiting at yet another Cracker Barrel restaurant (later, I beat myself up for not changing this).  That night, actually, that early morning, around 3:00 a.m., I pulled my second box truck into the hallway of my barn at Oak Hollow.

With two good trucks and ten tons of ammonium nitrate, I turned my focus to bomb construction.  I had been amazed at the available information online about bomb making.  I also learned most of it was incomplete.  I ultimately learned the missing two or three secrets from Timothy McVeigh himself, well the U.S. Attorney’s file that investigated and prosecuted Mr. McVeigh.  Here, I won’t share how I gained access to this information, other than saying that Greg unknowingly helped me.  One secret was the process used in saturating the ammonium nitrate with diesel fuel.  This turned into a very laborious process.  I had conducted many tests.  I had learned that simply pouring diesel fuel on the ammonium nitrate wouldn’t cause any explosion.  But, the secret process, which I will maintain as a secret, along with the firepower of the igniter, made all the difference. 

For the month that Nate Baker was in town working on his New York Times article, I spent most nights at Oak Hollow working on my two bombs.  I met with him most every day and began to conclude that what he was going to say would itself be a bomb of another kind.  I had that deep feeling the Hispanic community, already hot and bothered, would take to the streets the night Nate’s article was published.  I decided this would be my cover.  I had to be ready by the middle of July, the time his article would go public. It was not until Saturday July 7th that I tested my activation device in a quarry outside Heflin. Of course, I didn’t use one of my trucks.  The actual process was rather simple.  A phone call to a cell phone packed inside the rear of each truck vibrated just enough to trigger a switch that started a timer that in turn, at the designated time, sent an electronic signal to the battery.  It was like touching the positive end of a jumper cable to a battery that was already grounded.  The over-sized battery was suspended inside a metal garbage can half-filled with gasoline.  One simple spark would explode the gas, and it, in turn, would ignite the fertilizer bomb.

That was a little over two weeks ago, now it’s ‘D’ day.  At midnight, I rode a bicycle to Oak Hollow and drove the Chevrolet truck to the back side of Rayford Hardware and Building Supply.  I had previously scouted this area when I had picked up a generator I had specially ordered. The day I had backed my truck to the loading dock to wait on the generator to be loaded, I had walked around to the side of the building on the west end of the loading dock.  There was an alleyway between the main building and another building that no doubt had been added on.  It created the perfect hiding spot for my truck.

After backing all the way down the alleyway, I exited and locked the door.  I walked two blocks to Snead College where I had stashed a bike.  This would be the hardest part of the night.  I rode the eight miles to Oak Hollow in 45 minutes and drove the Ford truck to Adams Chevrolet, Buick, & GMC.  It was now close to 2:00 a.m., and as I stopped for the light to change on Highway 431, I could see three police cars, and what looked like a hundred Hispanics in the north parking lot.  I turned west on Hwy. 168 and could see that the front windows in the dealership’s show room had been broken.  I almost ditched my plan but noticed the back side of the building was dark.  All the attention was at the front, nearly a city-block away from the entrance to the body shop off Darnell Street.  I pulled the Ford on around the building about half way towards the front which was hidden by a tall hedgerow along a chain link fence.  Parking here was the closest I would get to the center of the facility.  I really had no idea how powerful my bomb was.  I had not been able to conduct a full testing, afraid of being identified.

Once again, I parked and locked the vehicle and this time walked to Duke’s Cleaners where I had hidden another bicycle.  I took the long way this time, down Highway 205 to Mountainboro avoiding Highway 431.  By 3:30 a.m., I was back at Oak Hollow.  I had decided not to detonate the bombs until I was safely away.  I made the first call at 3:34 a.m., and the second was at 3:36.  Inside my truck, sitting at Oak Hollow, I tuned my scanner and waited less than five minutes.  The Boaz Police dispatcher announced a Code 10-80 and ordered two cruisers to Adams Chevrolet and two to Radford Hardware.  I listened to the back and forth chatter for another ten minutes before concluding that the bombs had out-performed my highest expectations.  It seemed half of Boaz was on fire.  I drove home and slept until 7:30 a.m.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

After rereading Nate’s article, I was packing my briefcase when Matt stuck his head in my office. “You got a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I want you to meet two nice gentlemen.  Can you come to the conference room please?”  Matt said.

When I entered, I saw two young, clean-cut, well-dressed Hispanic males.

“Hello, I’m Micaden Tanner.”  I said reaching my hand across the conference room table.

They both stood, smiled, and shook my hand. “I’m Santiago Castenada.”

“I’m Nico Castenada, Santiago’s brother.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Matt explained that the two young men had completed graduate studies in California. Santiago received his Masters of Education from the University of Southern California’s Rossier School of Education, and Nico a Master’s of Divinity from Southern California Seminary in El Cajon, California.

“That’s impressive. Are you guys from Boaz?”  I asked.

“No, but we are planning on moving here.” Nico responded.

“They are from Texas but have spent the past eight years in college and graduate school.  They have hired us as general counsel.”  Matt said.

“We are starting a Christian private school for Hispanics.” Santiago said.

“Again, I’m impressed.  But, why Boaz?”

Our uncle was Mateo Castenada.  We owe him so much.  He is the reason for the opportunity we had to receive such an excellent education.  We want to continue his work here in Boaz, although in a slightly different way. Until his disappearance, his church was instrumental in giving hope to hundreds, thousands of local Hispanics.  There is now a void here, all while the Hispanic population continues to explode.  It’s all about providing hope and opportunity.  Education is the key.”

“That is a totally admirable pursuit.  Also, a very expensive one.  I assume you have already arranged your financing.”  I asked.

“Not totally, but we are making progress.  We have a few benefactors lined up.  We are also participating in the Federal Department of Education’s new voucher program instituted by President Trump in 2017.  As you probably have heard, it allows students to attend certified private Christian schools.  The student’s tuition is paid by the program in an amount equal to the applicable State’s cost to educate a public-school student.  Right now, here in Alabama, that amounts to about $10,000 per student per year.” Nico said.

“Here’s something you will find interesting.” Matt said. “I’ve shared Nick’s New York Times article with Santiago and Nico.  They believe it will trigger rioting.  Even before coming in today, they have spent the last several days in the local Hispanic community and observed the smoldering anger that is widespread.”

“Hispanics generally are quiet, peace loving, and law-abiding citizens.  Like most people, they can be pushed too far.  What has happened over the years is like bringing a pot of chili to a slow boil.  I’d say the recipe is complete: the kidnapping and murders of Mateo, his wife, and Alma, the sex trafficking, and the general abuse Hispanics have endured for years, and now, this article that describes how five of the families who founded Boaz have been manipulating and pillaging the whole community.  The pot is at full boil.”  Santiago said.

The four of us talked for another hour before Nico received a cell call and the two of them had to leave.  Matt and his wife were headed to their daughter’s in Atlanta for the July 4th holiday.  I grabbed my briefcase and drove home.  Tonight, might be the night that I had been waiting for.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Nate concluded his article with the story of a remarkable Hispanic girl who had been called Golden Goose by Mateo, her preacher father.

Eighteen years prior, she had barely survived birth. Throughout the first five years of her life she had endured the pain and suffering of polio, before a complete healing at age six, a Mateo miracle their Christian brethren called it. From there, her life exploded into academic, sports, and spiritual achievement.  Mateo said that she had single-handedly drawn together Hispanics from as far away as Oneonta to the south and Fort Payne to the northeast.  All coming to Boaz and Esperanza Baptist Church to hear Mateo bring Jesus to life, always using Alma as the visual representation that the Son of God continues to perform miracles. 

Friday, May 26, 2017, was graduation day for Alma and 115 fellow students from a mixed class of 46% Hispanics, 52% white, and 2% listed as ‘Other.’  Alma had a perfect 4.0 GPA, in fact, she had never received anything less than a B+ on any report card throughout her 13 years in the Boaz School System.  And, that B+ was in the Sixth Grade in a Physical Education class where the long-gone teacher gave A’s only to students who could do 25 pull-ups in less than one minute.  Alma did 24 even without the full use of her left hand that had been partially disabled from the polio.

Alma’s Valedictorian speech was scathing, and scintillating, but always respectful, and deeply heartfelt.  She praised the school system for an excellent education but condemned community leaders for allowing blatant discrimination against Hispanics.  Alma came close to calling the names of those she deeply believed were responsible for the disappearance of a dozen missing Hispanic girls, and four young men and their families.  She ended her speech lauding the efforts First Baptist Church of Christ had tirelessly made in establishing Esperanza Baptist and by warmly welcoming the overflowing Hispanic congregation that could no longer crowd into its undersized auditorium.

Two months earlier, Club Eden had developed its plan to transfer Alma and Mateo to ‘a more suitable environment.’  If left unhindered, their influence would decimate the once all-white community, changing its face and its character in unacceptable ways.  The Sunday morning worship hour attendance was already nearly 35% Hispanic. 

But, there was another reason Alma and Mateo had to go.  Thirty-seven-year-old Warren Tillman had fallen in love with the eighteen-year-old Alma.  Wade knew this, although Alma did not.  She had known Warren since she was a child and had always had the most respect for him.  He had liked her from the beginning but as she grew and matured into a beautiful young woman he had become enamored with her.  He arranged his schedule and her church involvement to make sure they were together working, planning, ministering as many hours per week as he could.  He had never done anything inappropriate with her but fantasized someday being together as husband and wife.  Wade had become keen to Warren’s infatuation several weeks earlier when, unnoticed, Wade had seen how Warren looked at and spoke with Alma.  Just as his ancestor Waymon Tillman was against interracial marriages, Wade was even more bigoted, protesting even friendly relationships between his children and Hispanics or Negroes. 

The initial plan was non-violent.  Alma would be given a fully paid education at Harvard and Mateo and his wife would be moved to San Marcos, Texas, given a nice home in an even nicer suburban neighborhood, and a job as associate Pastor at First Baptist Church of San Marcos.  Two weeks ago, Mateo and Alma had agreed, buying into Wade, James, and Fred’s argument that the Hispanic community was becoming too dependent upon the two of them, eventually causing a loss of faith and trust in God.  Alma was scheduled to spend the summer in Mexico with the Tarahumara Indians, and Mateo and his wife were moving to San Marcos in two weeks.

Three hours before Alma’s speech and the graduation ceremony, Mateo and Alma changed their minds and told Wade Tillman and James Adams.  They explained how they had prayed for nearly a week and had met with two other Hispanic pastors, one from Huntsville and the other from Birmingham, who both encouraged them to stay put, that God was at work and was not instructing them to leave.

After the graduation ceremony ended, Alma and her best friend Esmarelda Andres, along with several other Hispanic graduates, had plans to attend a celebration at St. William Catholic Church in Albertville where that City’s Hispanic graduates were also meeting. As the other Hispanic graduates drove out of the parking lot, Alma and Esmarelda were showered with gifts and congratulations from Wade and James before they too headed to St. William’s.

Eight minutes later Boaz Police Officers Chris Anderson and Paul Thomas blue-lighted Alma’s car on South Broad Street.  Less than two minutes later, Alma and Esmarelda were lying in the trunk of Alma’s car, hands tied behind their back, with Paul Thomas driving and Chris Anderson in tow in the BPD car.  Across town, Boaz Police Officers Dale Watson and Edward Hall had just completed their abduction of Mateo and Natamar Castenada.  The police officers drove all four vehicles to 1675 Shady Grove Road and Club Eden’s 288-acre hideaway.

Upon arrival, Chris Anderson and Edward Hall loaded Esmarelda Andres into the trunk of a 2017 Chevrolet Malibu and set out for the airport in Muscle Shoals.  Earlier, Club Eden and Gustav Nilsson had agreed to exchange Alma Castenada and $100,000 at 1:00 a.m. Saturday morning.  Esmarelda and Alma, though unrelated, could pass for twins.  Both were tall, almost 5 feet 7 inches.  Their weights converged on 125 pounds.  Both, of course, had long black hair.  Both possessed stellar beauty.  At 1:25 a.m., Gustav Nilsson and his two sons had stowed Esmarelda in their King Air 250 and were at 10,000 feet on a direct route northeasterly, to a destination unknown.

By 2:30 a.m., Mateo, Natamar, and Alma were laying side-by-side in the back of a 2017 Chevrolet Suburban courtesy of Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC.  The three gentle and caring souls lay silent, sleeping an eternal sleep from a lethal dose of cyanide poisoning.  Wade Tillman and James Adams were driving Interstate 59 northward to Valley Head and a 145-acre farm between Big Wills Creek and Rock Ridge Road that Club Eden had purchased in February for special purposes such as tonight’s.

It would be nearly nine months before Wade Tillman and James Adams were indicted for the kidnapping of Esmarelda Andres, and the kidnapping and murders of Mateo, Natamar, and Alma.  Looking back from that day, February 2018, one hundred seventeen years had passed since the murders of Leroy and Toby Jones, and ninety-two years since the murders of David Howsley and Baynard Reed.  All deaths were rooted in the hatred and bigotry of Club Eden’s full membership.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

The next section of Nate’s lengthy article was titled, The 1926 Murder of a Homosexual Couple.

In February 1926, David Howsley and Baynard Reed moved to Boaz from San Francisco.  Reed’s aunt had passed away in 1925 and left him her house on Elm Street, and Reed Flowers and Gifts, the only such shop in Boaz.  It was a small operation that allowed Sonya Reed to eke out a semi-comfortable living but not big enough to garner Club Eden’s attention.  That is, until it found out David and Baynard were homosexuals.  By the time the Club found out about the two men’s sexual orientation they had already leased a larger building for a flower shop. The new facility was next to present day Eaglemart and offered much better exposure to potential business.  The old building, which Sonya owned, was small, on a back street, and suffered from fifteen years of sagging floors and leaking roof.

It was on a Monday, the first after the July 4th City wide celebration, that early morning customers saw the sign on the Shop’s front door.  It read, “Thanks for all your support but we miss the West Coast.  Good luck and God Bless.”  Within two weeks, Anna Criar, the woman who the following year would become the wife of Benjamin Ericson, had reopened the shop as “Heaven’s Scent.”

Nate shared the story Rudolph had told him.  He said that he and his fellow club members thought interracial marriage was the most despicable thing they would ever have to deal with.  That was until homosexuals Howsley and Reed moved to town.  Rudolph admitted that Club Eden was on very thin ice from a Scriptural standpoint concerning their hatred of colored people but clearly the Bible supported their virulence against homosexuality.

At first, Rudolph had told Nate that the Club had simply threatened harm if the couple didn’t leave Boaz, and that violence was unnecessary.  With the Huntsville Dive Club’s discovery in May, Nate knew Rudolph was lying.  Ultimately, on Nate’s second visit to Creekside Nursing Home, Rudolph admitted that Club Eden had abducted and murdered the two men.

Rudolph said Farris Billingsley and Benjamin Ericson watched the two men for nearly three weeks, enough to learn their weekend routine. On Sundays, Howsley and Reed would take their two English Terriers to R.A. Mitchell’s place outside Gadsden. The couple had met the former mayor of Gadsden shortly after opening their shop.  He had come into town to purchase flowers for a cousin who had passed away.  The three hit it off and Mitchell invited them to visit his place in Gadsden.  The property, which later became Noccalula Falls, was the perfect place for an outdoor adventure: hiking, swimming, and picnicking.

During Howsley and Reed’s fourth Sunday trip to Mitchell’s, Eugene Adams and Samuel Radford accosted the two men as their Model T Ford made a horseshoe turn coming up Cox Gap. Rudolph Tillman and Farris Billingsley were standing outside the raised hood of Farris’ 1923 Buick Master.  In less than five minutes, the four Club Eden men had the homosexual couple tied up in the back seat of the Buick.  Adams drove the Howsley’s Model T Ford while Radford accompanied him. 

When they arrived at Club Eden’s 288-acre headquarters, Benjamin Ericson had a two-horse wagon ready.  The two men were removed from the Buick, and loaded onto the back of the wagon.    They were carried to the backside of the land and walked inside a cave containing a spring that fed the creek that ran behind the Club’s cabin.  Eugene Adams shot David Howsley, and Samuel Radford shot Baynard Reed.  The bodies were left there until 1988 when their remains were boxed up and buried 80 feet below the surface of the man-made Aurora Lake.