Other novels by the author
Eula’s Jug is a tale of extreme violence, and execution type killing, as told by Fly Boy, a simple country kid who gets tangled up with Aunt Eula, a kid stealing sharecropper’s daughter.
Jubal’s Womb is a delightful sexy story about a hillbilly who goes down from the mountains to become a sex therapist to the rich housewives of Boulder City. Prospector is about a high school kid who had an accident while breaking out of jail and ended up in a wheelchair, yet goes on to get involved in a murder and kidnapping. While the detective who has his fingerprints chases him, the kid finds a fortune in gold.
Regeneration tells of a chance fight on a summer night and a trigger-happy cop that wrecks Damon Shatto’s life. There was no way he could have known that re-generating blood cells, and sweet revenge, would be the driving force of his future... Or, that the chance finding of a strange liquid and a near death experience would lead to a plantation owners empty grave and a fortune in gold coins.
The Dirty Gift is a badass, bloodthirsty tale of a kid who got screwed by a probation officer, even though he had never committed a crime, and the way he used a street sweeper to deal with the Ohio River mobsters who killed his dad.
Hillbilly Witch is a tale about Eli Holt who didn’t know until the conjure woman told him, that his grandfather was Cat Eye Willie Holt, a famous bank robber whose body, and money, could be found at the bottom of Dead Man’s Gulch. She neglected though to tell him how he would solve an eighty-year-old murder, or about the fortune he would win playing blackjack on an island where he found a shrine dedicated to death.
Provoked tells the story of a kid slicked into becoming a prizefighter and the people who used him. The revenge he finally took against them is unheard of in the annals of literature.
The Magic Fog on Mystic River tells the tale of a village near a foggy river that has been hidden from the world since the 1600s. Crimes are corrected by impalement on sharpened stakes, and the women are generous with their sex. Cory Sands manages to bring it all to an end.
Sneaking Out of Prison Every Day is a story about a bank robber who accidently acquired the ability to use astral projection while doing a fifteen-year sentence in the federal penitentiary. He uses the ability to perform supernatural sex and performs feats that even astounds the FBI.
Horny Witch is a tale about a young lawyers first case. A harlot in jail with AIDS, and the heart stealing mob she leads him to. All the Morrow novels can be found on Amazon.com, in the United States, England, Germany, and France.
Chapter 1
From my place inside the boxcar, I could feel the slowing of the train. Another dinky town, just one of the many I had passed through.
Ohio was full of them. From large open fields of corn and wheat, in the western part of the state, to the rolling foothills of the Allegheny Mountains. I had seen them all from the open frame of the boxcar’s door. Some from a distance, and some like this town, where we were passing right through the center.
But something was different. We had slowed to nearly a crawl, and then before I could get to the open door, the train shuddered to a sudden halt. End of the line, I thought, but then as I reached the door, I saw it.
Rubbers! Thousands of them, scattered all over the ground. A wreck! A train wreck. An honest to God train wreck. What the... but wait a minute... people... they were everywhere... just casually walking around, now and then stooping, to pick something up from the ground, and then I got it all. Like a flash. It was an old wreck.
Maybe yesterday it happened, or even a week ago. Curiosity got the better of me. I just had to see, but then, after I walked a few steps after jumping out the door, I saw what they were picking up from the ground.
Beautiful little golden disks. Rubbers, for God’s sake. Some in cartons, but most of them just scattered up and down the tracks. Beautiful little golden disks, but they weren’t to spend, because the gold would come off and inside each of those gold disks was a rubber. The same kind you can buy from a vending machine in every truck stop in America. I just had to grin. A train wreck of rubbers.
I just sort of stood there for a moment like I was mesmerized, and then I took note of the surrounding.
First, was the ragged line of twisted boxcars, and a bridge right in front of me which led to a quiet street stretching into the distance. There were six different tracks where I was standing and behind me was a massive cliff, only it wasn’t made up of rocks. It was dirt and covered with many trees.
It was pretty obvious that the railroad people had bulldozed what was once a hill to make a flat place for their tracks. To complete the whole picture, there was an old-timer standing beside a little building not much bigger than a privy holding a stop sign on a long pole. Our roving eyes met for just a second, so I walked over to where he was standing.
“I’ve seen nothing like this before,” I said. “When’d it happen?”
“Yesterday. Damn thing just went off the track and those damn fools, the whole town mind you, are out there picking up rubbers, like they will get a lifetime supply.”
“Kids and adults too,” I added.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Bet you won’t find a pregnant high school girl in this town for the next ten years.”
That was good for another laugh for us both, and then I asked him the name of the town.
“Cambridge,” he said, “and that freight you just got off, ain’t going any farther. It’s got bags of clay for the pottery, and that special sand they use out at the glasshouse. So, if you’re still going east, you must catch the midnight freight which goes down to Wheeling, and then on to Washington, Pennsylvania.”
“No,” I answered, “I’m heading south from here so I guess I got off at the right place.”
“We ain’t got a line going south.”
“I laughed. I’ll most likely catch a bus, or even ride my thumb.”
“Huh. Well, good luck to you. If you want to, you can pick up a supply of rubbers before you leave,” and the twinkle in his eyes told me what he was thinking. I headed for the bridge.
In the distance, way on up the street where it made a curve around to the left, I could make out the figure of a staggering man.
I couldn’t make out the building he was coming from, because of the many trees planted on both sides of the street, but I could see he was having a hard time staying up on his feet. When he stepped into the street, I felt a quick twinge of alarm, but luckily there were no cars coming around that curve, and he made it to the other side of the street with no trouble. A few seconds later, he sagged down in the grassy strip between the street and the sidewalk.
I glanced at him a couple times, as I made my way along the street, and when I got to where he was lying, I noticed the building he had come out of. It was a saloon. The sign in the window said, “Turner’s,” and I could smell the beer. Across the street, the drunk was sleeping soundly.
Suddenly, I was thirsty, and I knew right away that nothing would quench that thirst except a glass of beer, and I also knew that if someone ever reads this, they might get the idea that I’m a barfly. Nope. Never happen. I might have a beer once, or twice a year, but that’s it. I don’t crave it. At least, not the way I was craving it outside of Turner’s Saloon. Yet, I know darn well that when the urge hits me, I would have to walk a long way to get that glass of beer.
Chapter 2
Saloons all have one thing in common. They stink. Beer, cigarette smoke, and the dim lights don’t help to cover up any of it.
I grabbed the first stool on the right after I came in the door, near three other customers already sitting three stools away from my stool. The barkeep was a woman, maybe a little on the heavy side and wearing a stained apron that