Xavier is an ex-NFL football player who kills two elderly people in a car accident. By all rights he is guilty except that he does not remember a thing. His story goes from bad to worse as he end up in jail and then fighting for his life. Charles is a detective who at one time idolized Xavier as a player and his gut feeling tells him that there is more to the case than meet the eye. As Charles struggles to put the pieces together in Xavier's life, his life falls apart . Proving Xavier innocents in a way helps him to believe that there are still heroes and perhaps even he may be consider one.
Xavier
A Hero No MoreBy Kenneth R. HarveyAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Kenneth R. Harvey
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4567-4671-1Chapter One
Warren and Martha Morgan stood in front of the Washington Monument in awe. Martha gazed at its height and pointed a slender finger towards the sky, as Warren focused intently on the map he held in his hand. He began reciting information as though he were a tour guide. He told her, in a matter of fact way, why the monument was a different color at the top than at the bottom.
She admired the way he lovingly described all the details and facts. Shivers shot up her spine as he spoke in a rich voice. His tone reminded her of Charlton Heston playing the role of Moses who barked out the Commandments. She, unlike the Israelites, would obey him completely and without question. Warren and Martha had been married for more than forty years, and after all that time they had just now saved enough money to go on their first vacation. There was no question about Washington D.C. being their destination. It had been a dream of theirs since they had first said their wedding vows. They couldn't care less about Venice, Paris, Rome, or any other exotic European city they'd heard friends bragging about. They were Americans, and they wanted to see the heart of America.
Taking their tiny savings, they bought two airplane tickets from El Paso, Texas to Washington's Reagan National. It was the first time either of them had ever flown, and as much as Warren tried to put up a brave act, he was scared. When the plane took off, he held his wife's hand so tightly that she felt the blood stopping its circular journey and bunching up near the area that he was squeezing.
Martha, like a good wife, endured the pain and would do nothing to bring shame or embarrassment to her love. She leaned into his chest and allowed him to feel like he was squeezing her hand to protect her instead of showing his own fears. She loved him, and she knew he loved her, too. Their close bond allowed both of them to know that they'd do anything to lift the other one up, regardless of the situation. They trusted each other completely.
After an uneventful flight and landing, the couple sauntered to the baggage claim area. Warren manhandled the luggage with the swiftness of a twenty-year-old who was anxious to start his vacation. They waited for the bus to take them to their rent-a-car stop where Warren got an almost new Cadillac CTS.
He felt excited as he drove his bride around town in the upscale car. Martha protested about the cost, but Warren would hear nothing of it. Although time and life had taken their toll on Martha, her face now weather-beaten and aged, she was still his queen. After all these years, he wanted to treat her like one on their vacation.
They had planned to visit all the museums in D.C. first before touring the monuments and finally the White House. There was no particular order to see the other buildings, but they especially were looking forward to the National Museum of American History as part of their tour.
As they drove down Constitution Avenue, everything appeared grander than they had expected, and with each landmark there was a new sense of excitement. The traffic was thick and parking nearly impossible. After turning onto 18 Street and circling the block a few times, Warren found a legal parking spot and parallel parked his impressive rental.
Warren held his wife's hand and paused for a moment before opening the car door. There was no rush. They were on vacation. After the brief rainstorm had passed, they got out of the car and walked to the intersection. They waited. The light was not green and by no means would they jaywalk, especially in Washington. Martha looked at her husband and smiled. She loved that he loved his country so much. He was a good man.
Even though he couldn't join the military because of a bum leg, he believed in everything the country stood for. In the south during the 60s, when there were several groups fighting against blacks, he had always opened his home to welcome people of color.
He'd say, "As long as you're willing to be a man, then be a man."
Warren was known for hiring them to work for him, and he provided free supplies for their families.
Now even as hard work and time aged his body prematurely, he still had the deep fiery blue eyes that grew with excitement as he moved closer to one of the symbols he had often read about as a kid. Martha leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek, not able to control herself any longer. He was not a big fan of public affection, but he smiled and squeezed her hand to let her know that he appreciated her kind gesture.
As the sun began to fight its way out of the grayish, rain-filled prison, a young man with an oversized backpack hurried past them as if they were moving too slow for his liking. Two young Asian women talking loudly into their cell phones passed them also, as though Warren and Martha were invisible and they were the only people in the world whose conversation was worth hearing. A young fully-developed woman jogged hurriedly past them.
Martha glared at her and took notice of the skimpy running togs the woman wore that were at least one size too tight and revealed way too much skin. Martha wondered how much attention Warren would give her. She made a bet to herself that he would not linger to look at the young lady, and felt confident that he would prove her right.
Within moments, the young lady was down the street and around the corner. All the time, Warren never really took his eyes off the map that was in front of him. He only glanced upward to make sure he was not in the way of the jogger. Martha mentally gave herself a "high five" and smiled, proud of the fact that she knew her husband so well.
For the rest of the day, she leaned in close to him and regarded the tall buildings and people who walked hurriedly around them. Warren was her monument, and she felt blessed to be with him.
"We better find our hotel," Warren said, interrupting Martha's thoughts.
"Oh, do you think we have time for one more place?" Martha asked, her voice like the soft whine of a child.
She knew she could ask him for anything, and he would do what he could to deliver.
"What do you need, dear?" he asked smiling like a Cheshire cat.
Martha began to talk to him about a mall that one of her friends had told her about in a Virginia suburb close to D.C. The mall, Tysons Corner, was somewhat fancy but Martha had been told it would be worth the trip. Warren smiled and kissed his wife on the cheek.
"Anything for you, dear!" he replied.
While Martha knew she had a certain power over Warren, like the expensive jewelry that she hoped to see at Tysons, she also knew she should only use that power for special occasions.
Proceeding to the car, Warren looked over his shoulder, inhaled deeply, and smiled. He had done what he had wanted to do so many years ago— see the Washington Monument and White House in person. They would use the rest of their time in Washington to get to know the people and the history. They wanted to get a feel for what their tax dollars were being put to use for. However, on their first day in Washington, they had promised each other that they'd do something special.
The drive out of the district was a simple one. A taxi cab driver told them to follow Constitution Avenue west, which eventually ended up on I-66. The interstate would take them directly into Virginia, and then they were instructed to...
