Chapter VII. Blood Flows And Tears Fall

Nancy Vaughan sat crying in the comfort of her Million Dollar Irving Park mansion on Sunset Drive. Donald stared at her impatiently. "So are you ready to listen to common sense now?" Donald asked.

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked.

"You almost got our daughter killed at the parade today," Donald answered, "You're lucky to be alive yourself."

"You sound as if the attack was my fault," Nancy shouted.

"In a way it is your fault," Donald replied. "It's both of our faults."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Nancy shouted.

"Here," Donald said handing Nancy a letter, "I got this in the mail two days ago, read it."

"Donald R Vaughan,
It's time you and Nancy confessed your parts in cheating the people of Greensboro. It's time you admitted your sins publicly. It's time both of you answered for stealing people's homes and property. It's time you admitted the special favors you've done for those who are closest to you. It's time you paid for your crimes. Do these things or many more will die.

Greensboro's Working Class"

"This came with the letter," Donald said handing Nancy a copy of a check written on an account addressed to a business located in a building Don and Nancy owned along with their business partner, Paul Mengurt.

"This doesn't prove anything," Nancy said. "You said so yourself."

"No, Donald agreed, "it doesn't prove anything but it's enough in the mind of a terrorist to justify killing hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. Besides, you and I both know it's true."

"So you expect me to confess to a scheme you, Paul and your buddies cooked up?" Nancy asked.

"No," Donald asked, "even though you're as big a part of it as I am I don't expect either one of us to confess. What I do expect is for you to let me take our daughter to Costa Rica before you get her killed. And I'm not taking no for an answer."


Police Captain James Hinson sat in his car parked on Greene Street just outside of the parade route while the crime lab teams, FBI investigators, Homeland Security and others swarmed across the scene looking for anything that might give them even the slightest clue as to who was behind the attacks.

He thought about all the years he had been a police officer, his rise to the top and why he would never become chief no matter how hard he tried. James Hinson had learned the hard way you can only blackmail your way so far before your own life becomes worthless in the eyes of those you're blackmailing.

Hinson was the owner of three group homes for women. When local anti-police activist Ben Holder learned of this and learned that Hinson had never informed his chain of command of his off duty activities, Holder went before City Council to expose Hinson in the hopes of getting then Lieutenant Hinson fired but as usual Ben Holder had gone off half cocked with the long term result being Hinson's promotion to captain and eventually assistant chief of police.

What Holder failed to realize was that Hinson's group homes were where he recruited the prostitutes needed to staff a place called the Executive Suite which was frequented by Greensboro's wealthiest male clientele as well as numerous Greensboro and Guilford County law enforcement officers. And while the Executive Suite was eventually closed it was common knowledge that James Hinson had lots of information on a lot of men that many of them didn't want made public.

Hinson also ran something of a special favors program for a connected few like City Councilman Jamal Fox and others who called Hinson when they got into scrapes with the Greensboro Police Department. Hinson would show up on the scene, tell the officer to let him handle it and make everything disappear with the understanding that the favor would be called in some day. Even when Hinson got caught doing so that disappeared as well.

Years of this sort of behavior made Hinson both hated and feared by almost everyone in Greensboro. And yet his power was such that even the City Council didn't dare cross him. As he sat in his car he again read the letter he had received a couple of days before.

"Captain James Hinson,
 You built a carer on secrets never told, half truths and lies to line your pockets and the pockets of those who prey on the innocent. Now you must stand before the public and admit  your sins or the killing will continue until even those you hold dearest are taken from you. Do these things or many more will die.
Greensboro's Working Class"

Captain Hinson folded up the letter and put it in his pocket. Never before had he faced a threat he couldn't lie his way out of.


The entire city was uneasy. No one felt safe. Downtown was once again a ghost town and remained that way for the next month. Businesses were closing and properties were being listed for sale but no one was interested in buying. Downtown Greensboro Incorporated had to rent a meeting room at the Koury Convention Center because their members all refused to meet in their downtown offices. Everyone knew that if this trend continued Greensboro's tax base would be devastated and the city bankrupted.

Already the City of Greensboro's bond rating had been lowered.

In Greensboro's poorer working class neighborhoods flyers began appearing stapled to utility poles, buildings, benches, trees, signs and most anything else they could be stapled to.

"The time has come when we must take back what is ours. We cannot allow them to push us from our homes any longer. We cannot allow their police to kill our children any longer. We can no longer accept taxation for the purpose of providing welfare to the rich. The time has come when some must die so that others may live free.

Join the revolution.

Greensboro's Working Class"

"Have you had any luck tracking down the printer these flyers were printed on?" Chief Scott asked.

"Some of them were printed on City of Greensboro Public Library printers," Detective Steed answered. "Others were printed on various printers at UNCG and A&T. Some were printed at places like Kinkos and the UPS Store. And others on printers you can buy at any place that sells computers and office products."

Please continue reading  Chapter VIII. Let The Games Begin