The Prosecution of General Hastings

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  12 delightful short stories with an unexpected twist at the end.

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  The Prosecution of General Hastings

  A. A. MacQueen

  THE PROSECUTION OF GENERAL HASTINGS

  Copyright 2015, A. A. MacQueen, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1511869706

  ISBN-10: 1511869704

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Back Matter

  PROLOGUE

  Just after midnight, the American walked into the shabby motel that was located two blocks off of Pueblo Nuevo on the north side of Hermosillo in the northern Mexican state of Sonora. The man sitting in the dusty ’72 Chevrolet Impala had been waiting and saw him arrive. Not being Mexican himself, he watched closely to ensure that his prey was the American. He was good, this man in the motel; he seemed to fit in. If the observer in the Chevrolet had not seen him earlier, he might not have identified the man to be the American. But it was him. He was sure of it.

  He watched as the American chatted with the man at the desk. The American handed the clerk something and the clerk handed him something in return. Then the clerk handed the American two bottles of beer from the fridge behind the desk. The American pushed his hat far back on his head, turned away from the desk and walked down a hallway carrying the two beers in one hand and his brief case in the other. Now the man in the Chevrolet would wait again, but his plan was in motion. He would wait a couple of hours. There was no hurry. Why rush a man’s last night on earth?

  With the windows rolled down, there was a pleasant breeze that passed across the front seat of the Chevrolet. It was a star filled night with no moon and the motel was far enough away from the lights of Pueblo Nuevo for the man to enjoy them in the dark Mexican sky. He played the radio softly, continually watching the doors of the motel. From the time that he began his vigil earlier in the evening, no one, save the American had entered or left.

  At five minutes to three o’clock in the morning, the man got out of the Chevrolet. He reached into the backseat and retrieved the heavy glass bottle. It smelled of the gasoline that it contained. He was careful not to touch the wet rag that hung from the neck of the bottle. The man walked behind the motel and identified the glass window of the room where the American now lay sleeping. It was an old motel and the thin glass window panes would break easily. This would not take long.

  The man reached into his pocket and withdrew the plastic cigarette lighter that he had purchased at the gasoline station. He turned the small striking wheel with his thumb and held the flame to the gas soaked rag hanging from the bottle. With all his might, he then threw the heavy glass bottle. It crashed through the window and loudly exploded into a massive ball of fire. The man could see the fire covering the interior of the motel room, the door, the walls, the bed clothes. It raced up the inside door leading to the hallway blocking any chance of escape. It happened in seconds. The room was completely engulfed in flames. The man thought he saw slight movement of the bed clothes. But they were completely aflame.

  The firelight danced across the man’s face revealing an evil grin. He stood watching for a moment. He was certain the American had not survived this.

  “Allahu Akbar,” he said. He turned and walked back to his car.