Who Trespass Against Us

Who Trespass Against Us

by D.P. Conway


Publisher Day Lights Publishing House Inc

Published in Literature & Fiction/Action & Adventure, Mystery & Thrillers/Mystery, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Mystery & Thrillers, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description

D.P. Conway uses fast paced storytelling to bring you the untold story of the life and judgment of the Vegas shooter. A work of fiction based on actual events, Conway takes what is known, and imagines what's missing to write a compelling narrative that gives answer to the question “Why?” But the story does not end there,Conway also presents the inspiring story of a young woman and her best friend, both country music fans, who journey through life and face that dark night together. Story tellers use their imagination to bring order out of chaos, and in this work, Conway does not disappoint

Sample Chapter

1889 Dundee Scotland

No, Mrs. Marjory, we have no other children, just wee little Mason here,” Ellen said in her thick Scottish accent.

“Aeye, he’s a handsome little boy, how old is he?”

“He’s only one month and smart as a whip, mind you,” Ellen said, as she sat in the little shop on Prince Street cradling the infant in her arms.

Mrs. Marjory sipped her tea, and glanced out the window at the cold rainy January day. “And ye traveled all the way from Whitechapel London with him only bein’ one month old, did ye?”

“Ahhh, yes. We had to leave straight away, there was no time to tarry.” Ellen looked up and saw William in the distance. “Oh, here comes my husband William now.”

Mrs. Marjory turned toward the window, pausing momentarily. Something about the man rattled her, though she didn’t know what. Maybe it was his eyes; they were cold and dark. They held something, an emptiness perhaps, but one filled with hatred and evil. But then he smiled at her, and the feeling went away as quickly as it had reared up.

He walked into the shop, located underneath the upstairs flat for rent. Ellen stood up to introduce her husband, “William, this is Mrs. Marjory, the land lady. She says the place is still available and will cost five shillings a month.”

William put on his fake smile and nodded. “Pleased to meet you Mrs. Marjory. We’ll take it.”

“Aeye, you’ll take it will ye.” She clasped her hands together. “From Whitechapel you say, hmmm” she paused. “Well what sort of work was this, you Whitechapel people have been about, letting Jack the Ripper kill so many people?”

William Bury kept his smile fixed, but inwardly he wanted to rip her throat out. The rage rose up faster than he had ever felt. Ellen saw him reacting. She felt the tension and placed her hand on his arm, laughing, “Well from all I’ve heard, Mrs. Marjory, Jack the Ripper is quiet now, and I have a feeling it’ll stay that way.”

“Oh, ye do, do ye,” she said, rolling her eyes some. “Well, we’ll see I suppose.”

There was silence as the three stood inside the front part of Mrs. Marjory’s store and flat in Dundee Scotland. Ellen broke the silence, “Well may we have the place?”

Mrs. Marjory paused for a moment, then nodded. “Aeye, why sure ye can. Here is the key. I’ll open a little account for ye at my store, so you can get started.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said William as he briskly turned toward the door, leaving Mrs. Marjory to hand the keys to Ellen.

Three weeks later

Ellen glanced over at the fireplace where William was sitting, sipping a bottle of whiskey, whittling a piece of wood with his knife. She sat silently at the kitchen table, knitting booties for her baby, as little Mason lay asleep in a small bassinette next to her.

Suddenly William stood up and abruptly announced, “I’m goin’ out for a while.”

Ellen’s eyes widened, she heard the tension in his voice. She put her knitting down and immediately stood up to face him. “No, no you said that was it. No more going out William.”

The tension began to turn to rage. The voice of rage William had known since he was a child, the voice that tormented him, until he found the way to calm it, to stop it, by spilling blood. He walked over to her, “What do you mean ‘no’? I am going out.”

Ellen pleaded, “You promised me William. I… I will tell them.”

“You will what?” he gritted his teeth as his voice suddenly shifted into a deep evil tone. He said again, “You will what now?”

Ellen backed up, grabbed the baby, and ran into the bedroom.

William set down the bottle of whiskey loudly on the table, gripped the knife, picked up a small piece of rope from beside the fireplace, and slowly walked toward the door.

Then he paused, he heard his conscience telling him ‘no,’ but he felt his rage boiling over. He felt his heart pounding and his eyes growing red with heat. Destiny was screaming into his boiling mind. He opened the door. Ellen was cowering, sitting on the bed. He stepped closer. Ellen looked at the knife and the rope, and quickly put the baby into the bedroom bassinette on the floor. “William, please. You… you… don’t have to… ” He grabbed her by the hair. She began to sob, “no… please.”

The next morning William sat alone at the table, periodically glancing into the room where his wife’s bloodied body lay motionless on the floor. He glanced down at the sleeping baby in the bassinette.

Suddenly he stood, as if tormented, and began to pace the floor. Ellen had been the only woman who ever loved him. But he needed more, killing her did not end the rage, it worsened it.

He heard the door of the downstairs shop unlock and open. He looked at the clock. It was Mrs. Marjory opening up for the day.

April 24, 1889 Dundee Prison

A crowd of nearly 300 people, some from as far away as England, walked beside and behind the condemned man. Some were crying, some trying to get his attention. But most of them were jeering, excited the he would now get his justice.

The Dark Angel Thaddus stood on top of the prison building looking down upon the gallows. His black wings glistened in the steady rain on the cold, cloudy day. William was his responsibility, and so far, all was going according to plan.

Just then, an Angel named David from the other side landed next to him. “Ahh, hello Thaddus. Will today be the day you join the other infamous Dark Angels who are imprisoned in the Dark cages?”

Thaddus smugly glanced over at him, “I doubt it.”

“Well I don’t. I’m going to get him to confess, and then ask forgiveness. Once he does, it won’t go well for you. You WILL face the wrath of the Lord for his heinous crimes.”

Thaddus half smiled, “I’ve told you, you’re wrong about him. They are only rumors started because he lived there.”

Chapter 1 skips now, and is continued below.....

One Month Later

A month later a horse-drawn carriage pulled up to the courthouse. Mr. and Mrs. James Paddock, cousins of Ellen from England, climbed out and went inside. They were there to take custody of Mason. Mrs. Marjory, who had been taking care for the child, was there waiting in an adjoining room with the bundled baby. She took the bottle of holy water from her pocket and put a drop on the baby’s forehead one more time, tracing the sign of the cross and uttering the ancient prayer an old woman from the village had given her. She had performed this ritual every day since the killing. She put the holy water back in her pocket, closed her eyes, and let out a deep exhale knowing it would be the last time she could help. After signing the papers, the door opened, and Mrs. Marjory brought the child in. She quietly handed the sleeping baby to Mrs. Paddock. She went back in, and returned with a trunk of things that belonged to Ellen. She also handed them a large envelope.

“What is this?” asked Mr. Paddock.

“Aeye, it’s newspaper clippings from the trial… and some other things I found that I thought would be of interest to ye.”

Mr. Paddock thanked her. But Mrs. Marjory did not smile. It was as if she needed to tell him something, something more, something important. “Mr. and Mrs. Paddock, I… I wanted… “ She stopped, knowing she might be labeled as a loon. “Never mind,” she said as she smiled, nodded, and walked away.

1921 Sheboygan Wisconsin… 33 Years Later

Mason Paddock looked down through the hospital ward window at the cribs before him. There were seven of them, but he was deep in contemplation with his eyes fixed on the fourth child. A little sign taped to the crib read, “Benjamin Paddock.”

He was worried. He’d had no time for anything between working and getting to the hospital each night. Today they were going home, and he needed to get home more than ever now. He needed to see the letters again and vowed he would as soon as he arrived.

He pulled onto the tiny gravel drive of their little bungalow home and carefully helped his young wife and child upstairs, and helped them into bed.

After she fell asleep, he got out of bed and went down into his workshop. He turned on the light and pulled out a small wooden box he had kept hidden from his wife. It was his mother’s box. It was something she too had always kept hidden. As a boy he knew about it, but she kept it locked, and he never saw what was inside until after she died.

He rifled through the news clippings. He had seen them all plenty of times over the past year since he cleaned out his deceased mother’s home. He paused to look again at the picture on the page, the one of who he now believed was his real father being led up the stairs of the gallows. He found the letter and carefully unfolded the parched worn-out paper. It was written to his mother 33 years earlier, from Mrs. Marjory.

June 3rd, 1889

Dundee Scotland

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Paddock,

I’ve been wrestling now with the idea as to whether or not I should tell ye my opinion of what happened here last winter.

Ellen was a beautiful woman, and so was her baby.But ye see, it was the husband who was more than just a killer. He was evil I tell ye. The local funeral man told me that he had the mark on his body, sure as day. I could never know this, but I do know of the darkness I saw in his eyes, in his soul.

He came from Whitechapel, and from the day he arrived, the infamous killings by Jack the Ripper stopped in England. I believe he was Jack the Ripper. I am almost certain of it. There’s no proof, except I understand now, what Ellen meant when she told me that she believed Jack the Ripper would be quiet now.

Mrs. Marjory's letter and the rest of Chap 1 is continued in book, including historical pictures


1979 Springfield Oregon . . . 58 Years Later


ingo, what do ya say we move down the road soon? They’re gonna catch on before long. Don’t you think?” asked Mary in her Chicago accent, as she sat drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

Bingo Bruce walked over to her, picked her up, and lifted her onto the dryer located off the kitchen in their double-wide manufactured home. “Mary Jaycox, you do know how to inspire me.” Even though he just turned 58, at 6’4” and 250 lbs. Bingo had no trouble lifting Mary Jaycox up. He nestled closer, then unbuttoned her white nylon pants, and helped her slip them off. Mary put her arms around his neck, and lifted herself up, making it easier for him to pull down her panties. “I’m here for you Bingo,” she said, staring into his big blue eyes. “I’m always yours for the takin’.”

Bingo Bruce, as he was called by the residents of Springfield, Oregon, was a con man, although they didn’t know that. He had been way more than that, but they didn’t know that either. Old age was mellowing him, but to his core he was a criminal. He’d been a bank robber, a murderer, and a mob thug for most of his life.

He pushed himself firmly into Mary once more, feeling her clutching him tightly as her body quaked on the towel-covered dryer. “That’s it Mary, stay right… there.”

Finally, his body released. He backed away and lifted her down off the dryer. “You still got it Mary Jaycox, you still make me crazy.” It was time to get ready for his weekly bingo game where he was known and loved by all as Bingo Bruce. His real name was Benjamin Paddock.

The notion of becoming a criminal first settled on him over 40 years earlier, after his father Mason beat the living shit out of him one cold morning outside their basement level apartment in Chicago. He was only 14 and had stolen some jewelry from a local store. It was easy. He just reached his hand over the counter, grabbed some necklaces, and ran. The beat cop saw him running, and wacked him with his club. The owner would not press charges, but after the cop brought him home, his father thanked the cop and waited for him to leave. He then promptly took Benny outside and kicked his ass. Benny would never forget the feeling of the cold snow pressing on his bruised cheek. He learned an important lesson that day. He’d get back at his father for beating him by becoming what his father loathed, and in that cold snow he vowed to do it.

Benny first set eyes on Mary Jaycox in the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge in Chicago. It was 1949 and he was 28 years old. He had already become a reliable low-level crime man in the Chicago mob. World War II was only a few years over, and life and crime were back in full swing. Mary was a cocktail waitress working weekend nights, to make money and meet men, but mainly to meet men. She knew money would follow the right man. Mary was tall and slim with long dark black hair. Her outfit magnified her assets. She wore fishnet stockings, a tight white half-buttoned blouse and a short green puffed skirt that plopped up nicely in the back when she bent over.

The first night Benny met her, he tipped her $20, which was a lot of money in those days. He asked her to come out partying with him after her shift. She did, and before the night was over he fucked her in his car. To Benny it was way more than a one-night stand. He fell in love with her that very night, and while it took a good number of months longer for her to reciprocate, she eventually fell in love with him.

Mary had other lovers, but there was something about Benny she found irresistible. Perhaps it was the easy lies he told her. She didn’t know for sure which ones really were lies, and which ones were true. But it didn’t matter to her, because he was good at it, and he kept things exciting and he was also good at fucking.

Benny confided sparingly with her about all his dealings. She found herself intrigued by her ‘bad boy’ boyfriend. But it was one night in particular when Benny revealed something in his soul, something that scared her. "Continued in book"


Excerpted from "Who Trespass Against Us" by D.P. Conway. Copyright © 2017 by D.P. Conway. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

D.P. Conway

D.P. Conway

D.P. Conway is a CPA turned writer. He is a first generation Irish American who began writing in 2009 as a way of overcoming life long depression. He enjoys dancing, workout classes, playing basketball, and nurturing his relationship with friends, family, and Heaven.

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