River City

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Synopsis

Sheriff Frank Johnson struggles with the ominous shadows of his past in a city where the lines of morality and the law are often blurred, exposing intricate family ties, systemic corruption, and a justice system that frequently fails those it should be protecting. Frank’s role as protector requires choices to be made, sparking broader societal and legal debates and forcing questions regarding the true nature of justice, ethics, and redemption.

Chapter One: Vengeance

Injustice is hiding under a judicial bandage. Someone—a hero—will tear the fabric away and rid us of this suffering.

Unknown

As an ambulance siren wails in the distance, a police radio crackles with a dispatch message. “Frank, you anywhere close to the Green Frog? Joe has shot up the place—he’s asking for you.”

Sheriff Frank Johnson drives from the County Line Liquor Store with a bottle of 90-proof nestled beside him. The job he loves has weakened him, leaving him with haunting memories of friends gone too soon and innocent lives he couldn’t save. But the heaviest weight he carries is the memory of his beloved wife, stolen from him in a moment’s cruelty.

His dark, unruly hair frames a face marred with stress, and his eyes reflect the emptiness he feels. Still young and physically imposing, his strong chin endures the punches of a tragic existence.

The world continues its assault on everything he holds dear and threatens his very sanity. He yearns to be free of the weight of his calling, but the city needs him—and he needs the city.

As the siren’s wail grows louder, another message comes in over the radio. “Frank, you there? If you can hear me, please respond. Billy Maxwell is en route with the city ambulance. None of the county or state hospitals would go. Won’t be any police backup either. Several citizens are locked and loaded, but the mayor asked them to stand down until we hear from you.”

Frank reaches for the volume control on the radio and turns it off without acknowledging the calls. His anger builds as he coaxes more speed from the unmarked cruiser, the white lines of the weathered county road blinking quickly by. The symphony of engine, road, and wind noise soothes his special passenger, still too young to realize the loss of his mother.

Nervous sweat begins to dampen his forehead, the tiny beads glistening in the orange glow of a full Hunter’s Moon. He wipes his brow with an unbuttoned, rumpled shirt sleeve and says a prayer for forgiveness. God will forgive him; this world may not. The exorcism of the demons that chase him is at hand as he turns down the dead-end road leading to the Green Frog.

The Green Frog Gentleman’s Club stands just outside the city, across the river. Law enforcement rarely patrols here, and the lines of jurisdiction often blur. The patrons are tainted with various life pollutants—an unsettling mixture of perversion and dead dreams. The allure of debauchery with no fear of prosecution creates a hellish environment where legal and moral boundaries cease to exist.

The air in the room is heavy as gases from the gunfire mix with the ever-present cigarette smoke. The sounds of suffering from the wounded drown out the brightly lit jukebox, shuffling through songs selected by people who now lie on the filthy barroom floor.

“Stay down and shut up!” Joe Walker’s voice booms as he waves his handgun wildly. “Frank Johnson and I have unfinished business.”

Joe’s history of malevolence and psychopathy is well known, and he makes no effort to conceal his intense hatred of the world, especially Sheriff Frank Johnson.

Frank and Joe were unwittingly set on a collision course from the moment they took their first breaths. Born to the same mother, their destinies diverged cruelly and irrevocably.

Frank was cradled in the warm embrace of their biological family, nurtured with love and guidance. Joe, however, was handed over to another family, a decision their mother would regret for the rest of her life.

In that home, the walls bore silent witness to Joe’s torment—a relentless onslaught of abuse and violation that fractured his spirit and warped his psyche. He became a malevolent force as a result of the cruelty he endured, and his only burning desire was to destroy everything their biological mother held dear, especially Frank. For Joe, it wasn’t just about revenge on a world that had betrayed him; it was a vendetta, a war against his own blood.

Joe leaves a trail of trouble and victims everywhere he goes. Despite his long criminal record, he always gets parole, hinting at deep systemic corruption. A shadowy web of connections and back-room plea deals keeps Joe forever on the move, forever eluding true justice.

“My baby is dying!” cries the mother of one of the victims of Walker’s shooting rampage. A stray bullet has left the infant clinging to life.

Sara Jenkins is a popular dancer at the club, and without the benefit of education and opportunity, this is the only life she has known. Struggling to eke out an existence as a single mother, she works long hours in a toxic environment, never crossing a moral line that she has set for herself. With dreams of a more respectable life, she understands that this is no place for a baby, but without the support of a spouse or other family, she has no choice.

Joe turns without hesitation and, with a single pull of the trigger, silences the desperate pleas of the mother. The pop of the handgun reverberates around the room and serves notice to those with aspirations of heroism.

With a bottle and pistol in hand, Joe takes a seat at a wobbly banquet table facing the front door. For a moment, he appears to be lost in thought but quickly regains his focus on the club entrance. His cold, blank stare remains locked as he reloads his weapon.

Frank idles up to the rear entrance, his heart filled with rage. As he reaches into the backseat, wrapping his hand around the cool steel of his 12-gauge sawed-off shotgun, a flood of memories rush back—vows to serve and protect, the heavy weight of familial ties, and that fateful night he lost more than he could bear.

The rear entrance is unlocked, allowing Frank to walk unnoticed over to where Joe is sitting with his back to the door. With his free hand, he powerfully flips the table to the side, getting Joe’s attention. Joe scrambles to his feet and attempts to raise his handgun. The blast from the 12-gauge leaves Joe Walker unrecognizable.

Frank makes his way back to his car and leans in to check on the precious cargo. After wiping the spattered blood from his hands, he gently replaces the pacifier between the lips of his sleeping baby son. He then pulls a picture of his wife from over the visor and remembers her struggle for life, shot repeatedly by Joe Walker just a few months ago. He feels a tear run down his face, an unfamiliar emotion he thought he no longer possessed in his hardened heart.

No more trials. No more hung juries. No more failures of a broken system to deliver justice. Tonight, vengeance belongs to Frank Johnson.

Author’s Notes:
Elements of this story were inspired by actual people, places, and events.

Cover Image: © Jamison Brown