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    Grey Areas
    Grey Areas
    Grey Areas
    Ebook122 pages1 hour

    Grey Areas

    By Brad Carl

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Henry Fields is an unsuspecting young man who has just moved to the small, quiet town of Gable, Iowa. After finding a job and a place to live, he quickly establishes himself as the friendly and reliable "new guy." Despite being elusive about his past, local hometown girl Claire Mathison finds Henry irresistible. But major trouble begins to brew one night and it soon becomes unclear whether Henry Fields is part of the problem or the solution. Filled with psychological drama, suspense, and thrills, Grey Areas is the debut release from Brad Carl.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBrad Carl
    Release dateFeb 8, 2015
    ISBN9781311691088
    Grey Areas
    Author

    Brad Carl

    Brad Carl is a former radio personality who still earns part of his living by doing voiceovers. Growing up in the Midwest, reading and writing were passions of his for many years. It wasn't until recently that he decided to release his work to the world. Brad is also a successful businessman, networker, and speaker. He currently resides in Kansas City with his wife, Kristi, and daughter, Presley. The family also has a dog named Ali.

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      Book preview

      Grey Areas - Brad Carl

      GREY AREAS

      BY BRAD CARL

      Copyright © 2015 Brad Carl

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved.

      Cover art adaptation by Matt Downing Photography

      The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

      I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to read this book. Please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased it. Reviews are an author’s best friend, next to readers like you. And be sure to help spread the word by telling your friends about the Grey Areas saga.

      Thank you so much for supporting my work.

      —Brad

      To my father, Don, who helped me finish reading my first chapter book, Mystery of the Desert Giant, circa 1978.

      I miss you every day, Dad. This accomplishment is for you.

      I

      Do you believe in life on other planets? Bruce Townsend asked.

      Henry Fields stared across the counter. He wanted to pull the stray white hair sticking out from Townsend's nose. But he also wanted this job.

      Do you? Henry asked back.

      Townsend smirked. Answering a question with a question. Classic deflection. I like that. When can you start?

      Henry wasn't surprised. The sign in the window of the Corner Store read Help Needed not Help Wanted, implying desperation. He’d only noticed it because the speed limit slowed him down to thirty miles an hour as he drove past the store on Highway 57. It was as if Gable, Iowa, had chosen him.

      Whenever you want me to, Henry replied, looking around the small store.

      How about tomorrow morning? Be here a few minutes before six. Since you've never worked in a convenience store or gas station, there are gonna be a few things I need to show you. Where do you live?

      Nowhere yet. You got any suggestions?

      Well, welcome to Gable, first of all. You'll find some great food at Stubby's Diner right across the street there, Townsend said, pointing. If you're a single fella you can get some porno mags right over here, he continued, strolling to the magazine section of his store. Or when you need groceries to cook an anniversary dinner for your better half, you might wanna head twenty miles south to Adler. It's the main hub around here, a much larger town. Or you can always get your grub here but, as you can imagine, our selection for that kind of shit is limited.

      It was obvious to Henry that Townsend was trying to learn more about him. Bruce Townsend was a man in his mid-fifties, bald head, medium height, pot belly, and two days’ growth of white beard showing.

      I'm on my own. Just a thirty-year-old bachelor. So, do you have some thoughts on where I might live?

      Oh yeah, sorry. Sometimes I get sidetracked. You could live in Adler, but you're gonna spend less in gas and rent living in Gable. Plus, we don't have the crime that Adler has. Tom Chumansky has a little farmhouse just west of here. He built himself a big mansion behind it. Owns a couple of electronics superstores in Adler. I heard he's trying to rent out the farmhouse. It's a decent place.

      Sounds good to me, Henry said. He had driven through the small city of Adler less than an hour ago and estimated its population at around a hundred thousand. It seemed like a good spot, but saving money right now was Henry's best move. As Townsend began writing down directions to Chumansky's house, he remembered something else.

      One more thing, he said. The employee you're replacing was also my accounting person. Now, I don't expect you to take that part over, but would you mind getting paid by personal check? I'll get the other paperwork and stuff handled later.

      Henry decided this might be a good opportunity to push the envelope.

      How about you pay me in cash? Henry suggested.  Banks annoy the shit out of me. May as well drop a curse word back at Townsend and let him know it doesn't offend me, Henry thought to himself.

      I know what you mean, Townsend responded. They're always finding reasons to charge you extra—returned check fees, overdraft charges, minimum balances, the whole nine yards. Fine, then. Cash it is.

      Henry walked over to Townsend and collected the directions to the farmhouse.

      Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Townsend. I won't let you down, Henry said, holding out his hand.

      I know you won't, kid, Townsend replied, shaking Henry's outstretched hand. And why don't you just call me Bruce.

      Will do, Henry said. He walked to the door and pulled his car keys out. A thought crossed his mind as he exited. He turned and added, You can call me Hank...if you want to.

      See you bright and early tomorrow morning, Hank.

      Henry walked to his dark blue Honda Civic and got in. He sighed as he turned the ignition. A new beginning. A chance to start again. Gable seemed quiet. And small. Population 879 read the green sign that had welcomed him to town.

      Following Bruce's instructions, it took less than ten minutes to arrive at the farmhouse. Henry turned in to a long gravel driveway and drove a quarter mile before he saw a small white house on his right. Sitting behind it another quarter mile or so down the drive was a large brown house.

      Looks like this is the place, Henry thought as he looked around. There were trees, bushes, weeds, and grass on three sides of the small house. A faded red barn sat at the edge of a wooded area about a hundred feet in front of the house. Around the corner of the barn, Henry spotted a man driving a riding lawn mower through the yard. He was smoking a cigar and doing his best to cut the grass around two German shepherds that were frolicking in his path. The man noticed Henry, who by now had come to a complete stop. He turned off the mower as Henry exited his car and began walking towards him.

      Would you happen to be Mr. Chumansky? Henry inquired.

      That's me, the man responded, pulling himself off the seat. He wasn't a large man, maybe five foot six, thin, with sandy blonde hair, squinty eyes, and a squeaky voice. What can I do for you?

      My name is Henry Fields. Bruce Townsend at the Corner Store told me I should check with you about renting a house.

      Oh yeah? Chumansky said with a deadpan expression as he continued to approach Henry. Chumansky looked to be in his late thirties and was a good half foot shorter than Henry. But that didn't stop the smaller man from getting as close to Henry as he could. They were almost toe to toe when Henry answered him.

      Is that a problem? Henry asked, once again answering a question with a question. It was a confrontational inquiry, but he said it in the least threatening manner possible. Henry wasn't looking for a fight; he was looking for a place to live. Chumansky immediately slumped down and took a step backwards.

      Naw, I was just messing around, Chumansky said. Henry had seen guys like this before. Taller men often referred to it as short man syndrome. Pint-sized guys with an attitude, at least until someone stood up to them or knocked them out.

      Tom Chumansky. Nice to meet you, Henry. Chumansky stuck out his hand. Henry returned the gesture. He could feel the calluses on the man's palm.

      This guy might be in the electronics business, Henry thought, but he has spent some time working with his hands, too, more than likely on the farm.

      This is the house right here, Chumansky confirmed as he began walking in that direction. The dogs followed, occasionally jumping on Henry. He wasn't much of a dog lover, but that didn't stop Henry from making an attempt. The problem was, every time he pet one it only encouraged them both to jump on him even more.

      My wife and I just moved out of it a couple of months ago, Chumansky continued. We finally got the idiot contractors squared away and finished with the new one. You might've seen it when you were coming down the drive.

      Yes, it looked nice back there. Kind of imposing with the woodsy backdrop. Henry dropped the compliment like a butt-kissing used car salesman.

      Thanks. You know, whatever makes the wife happy. And she's happy. For now, anyway. Cost me a fortune, but what the hell. You only live once, right? Can't take the money with you when you clock out, so...

      Chumansky opened the front door of the rental house, and the two men entered the living room. The dogs remained outside.

      "We left the old furniture here and put all new stuff in the new house. That's the lazy man's way of moving. The only things you won't have here are a TV and a phone. I can get the electricity and water turned on with a phone

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