by Edwin Dasso
He pulled a small lighter from his pocket and lit the gas-soaked rag he’d stuffed into the bottle. As the flame quickly licked at the cloth, he spun and threw it at the closest building. The flame jumped from the shattered bottle onto the gas-soaked siding, quickly spreading up to the roof. Acrid black smoke soon swirled around them, but they all jumped and cheered before they turned and dashed to the middle of one of the compound’s fields. Frederik was crumpled at their feet, still unconscious, and his two henchmen next to him tugged against their restraints as they rolled to view the inferno. The flames leaped from building to building, the conflagration throwing heat on them even where they stood a hundred yards distant.
“Good riddance,” Jack mumbled.
“That it is,” Hank replied. The roiling flames warmed his soul as much as his skin, and he smiled. Burn, baby, burn. He reached down and pulled a satellite phone from the ruck that was at his feet. “Time to call the police.”
Amanda looked at the dark cloud rising above them and giggled. “Tell them to just look for the smoke.”
Jack laughed and put an arm around her shoulder then pulled her close. “That’s my girl.”
After finishing the call, Hank marked out a diamond shape on the ground with some neon orange spray paint he’d brought with him. It took two hours for a state police helicopter to arrive and another two hours for Hank, Jack, and Amanda to explain to the troopers what had happened at the camp. Finally, the three of them piled into the police aircraft and belted in. As they lifted off, Hank looked down and blew out a long sigh. A huge weight lifted from his shoulders.
Done! That sorry chapter of my life is finally dead…and buried.
Jack leaned his forehead against the window, looking down at the smoldering piles of ashes. Is this it? Will this be the last of those who have some sort of vendetta against me? He turned his gaze to Amanda. And against Amanda.
Amanda looked at Jack and smiled then grasped his hand and squeezed it.
Jack smiled back at her and leaned against her. If there is another crooked or crazy bastard still out there, they’d better be ready for a fight—because my little girl will give them one.
Epilogue
Two weeks later, the effects of the LSD on Jack’s mental functioning had largely resolved, though he still didn’t feel entirely himself. The hallucinations had dissipated, and the nightmares, though still present, were becoming less frequent and less intense. His clinical care team warned him LSD could have some unpredictable long-term effects. To become more familiar with possible downstream after-effects, Jack had read articles on the 1950s CIA experimentation on the influence of LSD. He wanted to be prepared, having no desire to find himself on a high window-ledge someday, thinking he could fly. Being aware of what could happen was one thing—his overarching question was whether he could control behavior caused by such a potent drug.
“Dad? You with us?” Amanda put a hand on his arm and shook him, drawing him from his thoughts.
Jack shook his head then smiled at her. “Yep…just daydreaming.”
Amanda arched an eyebrow and appraised him for a few seconds. “That’s all? Nothing worse? No flashbacks or hallucinations?”
Jack shook his head and tapped the side of his head with a fingertip. “All systems functioning normally.”
Hank snorted. “Normal for Jack Bass, anyway.”
Amanda smacked Hank’s arm. “Hank! That wasn’t very nice!”
“I-I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was just joking.” Hank blushed and turned away. “Sorry.”
Jack looked at each of them and chuckled. “Okay, you two. Enough with the debate over how crazy I am.” He gazed around the cafeteria of Amanda’s college. “This is a hell of a lot nicer than when I was in college.” He set a hand on Amanda’s forearm. “Everything going okay for you at school?”
She nodded. “Great.” Her brow furrowed. “Except for some unexpected interruptions, that is.”
Jack winced. “Sorry…”
Amanda scooted her chair closer to him and threw her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against him. “I’m just kidding, Dad. Don’t take everything so seriously.”
Wouldn’t I love to not take things so seriously. Seems like whenever I let my guard down, though, some schmuck decides he has to screw with me. He blew out a long breath and put an arm over Amanda’s shoulders. “Yeah…sure. I’ll try to relax a little.”
The three sat silently a couple of minutes, each sipping at their coffee.
“Do you think he was the last of them, Dad?”
Jack arched an eyebrow as he looked at Amanda. “Huh? The last of whom?”
“Your enemies from the past—people who want to kill you.”
Jack’s heart began to race. He squirmed in his chair, running his fingers through his hair and clearing his throat. That’s the big question, isn’t it? He took in a deep breath then puffed out his cheeks as he blew it out. I wish I had a clue what the answer is. He turned his gaze to Amanda and shrugged. “I sure as hell hope so, honey, but…they seem to keep crawling out from under rocks, don’t they? People I didn’t even know, let alone interacted with.” He suddenly bolted upright, his eyes opening wide. “You’re not afraid for yourself, are you? I’d hate to think my pitiful past was going to negatively impact your attitude about your own life.”
Amanda shook her head briskly. “No, I’m not afraid. I’ve seen the courage you, Grampa George, and Hank have shown over the years. You’ve set good examples for me to be strong—to be unafraid. No matter what happens.”
Hank leaned forward and clapped Amanda on the shoulder. “That’s my girl! You’re a badass to the bone.” He leaned back and pointed a finger at her. “And don’t ever forget it!”
Amanda rolled her eyes and pushed Hank’s hand away. “Hank, you’re a goofball. I’m no badass…and I don’t want to be. I just refuse to go through life being afraid…always looking over my shoulder for the boogeyman.
“No—I want to take life on, no matter what it throws at me.” She turned her gaze to each man in turn then clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “Try to make it safer, so other people don’t have to be afraid, either.” She cleared her throat and locked eyes with Jack. “That’s why I’ve decided to major in law enforcement. I’ve already talked with Wes Watley about getting into the FBI after I graduate.”
Jack stiffened in his chair and stared at her. “What? But—”
“Don’t give me ‘the look’, Dad. This is what I want to do! I want to specialize in criminal psychological profiling.” She shot a quick smile at both men. “Wes thinks I should get in easily.”
Questions swirled in Jack’s head. What if she gets hurt? What if she’s…killed? He shook the thoughts away and smiled at her then hugged her tightly. “I’m behind you all the way…no matter what you do.”
About Edwin Dasso
Edwin Dasso, MD, a USA Today and Amazon International #1 Best-Selling medical thriller author and multiple Reader's Favorite 5 Star Award-winner, writes works of fiction that leverage many of his "stranger than fiction" experiences from years of practice at major medical centers and community hospitals.
"You might be shocked at some of the events in the books that are based on an actual experience."
Member of the International Thriller Writers.
Find & Follow Edwin Dasso
Also by Edwin Dasso
Jack Bass Black Cloud Chronicles Series
In The Line of Ire
Death Target
Death Management
You’ll Be Safe
Do I Know You?
Empty Promises
Death Hub
Misty and Mark Mystery Series
Stuffed
High-Tech Crime Solvers Series
Virtually Dead
Learn More
https://www.eddassobooks.net/
Her Biloxi Brute
A Novel
By
Judith Lucci
Conte
nts
Author’s Content advisory
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Judith Lucci
This book is dedicated to my faithful readers! Thank you all for your continual support and encouragement. You are my inspiration to write.
Author’s Content advisory
Her Biloxi Brute
Language intensity
No or mild profanity
Sexuality intensity
Possible sexual references with no details
Violence intensity
Violence but no gory details.
Prologue
The moonlight was muted and ghostly as it shone through the porthole in the main stateroom on The Magnolia II, a one hundred forty-foot yacht, moored in Pass Christian, Mississippi Harbor. Valerie struggled to open her eyes. Her vision was bleary and dulled. She opened and closed her eyes to see better. She watched the moon glide through the clouds into darkness as she pieced together what had happened to her. She felt a warm, sticky ooze near her ear. Is it blood? It smelled like blood. She tried to move her hand and she realized she was tied up, her right hand cuffed to a post in the stateroom. Terror ate at her heart. She was stunned with fright and panic. Where am I? What has happened to me? The blinding pain reminded her that she’d been grabbed near her work. A dozen or so disconnected images cascaded through her brain, but she was unable to relate them. Her brain had a serious disconnect.
Valerie could see white, wispy puffs of clouds as they passed in front of the moon that created a soulful, mournful feeling. It felt like death in this room. It smelled of death. Mold and rot. Her body trembled. She quivered with uncertainty. Throbbing pain pushed through her state of semi-consciousness and she moved her arm to her head which pounded with an aching, blinding agony that wouldn’t stop. She felt nausea race from her stomach to her throat. She back swallowed to keep it down.
The night air was damp. She shivered from cold and realized she was half-naked. Her blouse had been shredded. The blanket near her smelled of dead fish, diesel fuel and mold. Once again, the young woman stared up at the full moon she could see through the porthole. She turned her head away from the light and struggled to lay on her side. There was something familiar about the room. Have I been here before? Why am I tied up? She heard a voice, a male voice, droning on and on a short distance away. She recognized the voice, but in her state of confusion she couldn't identify the person. She closed her eyes and tried to remember but the blinding pain in her head paralyzed her thoughts.
A few seconds later an excruciating kick to the side startled her. “Wake up. Wake up, bitch. We’ve gotta talk.”
Valerie’s eyes popped open and her pain turned to panic. She looked up at her abductor and trembled with fright. She knew him. She turned her head away. The pillow smelled salty, kind of like wet blood. Her wet blood.
An ugly, semi-bald man of moderate height with pig-eyes stood above her. His pudgy gut suggested he lived well but exercised little. He leered down at her, taking in her voluptuous, perfect body and beautiful face, bloodied from a blow to the head. She was tantalizingly perfect. The man shook his head as drool rolled down his whiskered chin. I hate to kill this bitch. She could make me a fortune. He hesitated for a second and considered his options. Maybe he should let her live.
"Please, please don't hurt me. I promise, I'll do everything you tell me to do and I won't go to the police." Valerie’s voice was quiet as she lay helpless on the floor. She pulled her torn blouse around her. “I promise. Please, I have a little girl." Her eyes pleaded with him, but the man didn’t notice.
The man reached for his cognac. He’d been drinking for hours. He weaved back and forth as he smirked at her. His eyes glittered with lust, hate and disgust. His open mouth sported a set of crooked, rotting teeth as a mouth full of slimy secretions dropped on the woman’s mostly bare chest.
With your money, why are your teeth so crooked and rotten? They should be perfect. Valerie reached for a blanket on the floor to wipe the disgusting drool from her breast. Anger overwhelmed her. She locked eyes with him. “You’re a disgusting pig. A fat, disgusting, nasty pig.”
The evil man’s eyes glittered with hate. “And, I guess you would know that because you’re a college girl, right?” He taunted her. “Yeah. You’d know because you went to college.” He shook his head. “I hate all of you bitches who think you’re so smart because you took a few college courses” He leered down at her.
Valerie stared at him but remained silent.
The man shook his head. "Too late, sweetheart," he slurred as he reached for his bottle of cognac. "I never wanted to kill you. With that face and hair of yours, you could've made me a million bucks, but I know, you're too good for this because you’re a college girl." He tipped the bottle of cognac up and drank deeply. He taunted her. “Remember, Miss Priss, do you remember what you said when you told me you were in college and had no plans for a career at The Magnolia?”
Valerie looked at him, her eyes glued to his face. She shook her head. “No. I don’t remember.”
The ugly man hiccupped and spoke again, his speech slurred. He was dizzy. He cursed his blood sugar as he reached in his pocket for his diabetes medicine. He knew he shouldn’t drink the sweetened liquor, but he didn’t care. With trembling hands he opened the top of the bottle and dumped two pills in his hand.
Valerie slapped the pill bottle out of his hand and the pills went flying all around her.
The man uttered a string of profanities. He was furious. Maniacal pig eyes glared down at her. "You stupid bitch. How dare you!” He slapped her in the face as hard as he could. Her nose spurted blood and splashed onto his stained, white shirt. Valerie choked as the blood backed up in her throat. She could hardly breathe. She struggled to stay conscious. She cringed as the man hit her again and again.
She remained conscious. Anger consumed her. She was furious. She stared at him, her face beaten beyond recognition. Her single eye was huge in the ghostly moonlight. She hissed. "You're nothing but a two-bit mobster. You've never worked an honest day in your life."
The man kicked her in the side of the head. The woman was quiet for a moment.
Her killer smiled with relief. He’d always admired the woman’s grit, but now he was sick of her. She was no longer a person that held his interest. He looked at her and momentarily missed the millions of dollars she could have earned him. If she’d been cooperative, things could have been different. Hell, he’d have even let her live on the yacht. He wouldn’t have minded her kid. The child was cute. It was no big deal to him. He allowed himself to doze for a moment and was shocked when someone pulled at his trouser leg.
“I’m still alive, you fat, ugly bastard.” Valerie’s one eye taunted him, her face disfigured beyond recognition. “You may kill me, but you’ll never forget me,” she promised.
“Not for long, bitch.” He pulled out his Glock and shot her in the chest. There. She ain’t so pretty anymore.
A second later, as Valerie’s soul escaped the stinking, sweaty cabin, her last thoughts were of her three-year-old daughter. Five minutes later her killer passed out and fell on the floor of the yacht, inches from her mutilated body.
1
“I don't want to do this! I really don't. Do you realize what you’re asking me to do?" Lida Dewey's eyes brimmed with tears, her voice bordered on hysteria. “Why would yo
u ask me this?”
Charles Hollister rose from behind his desk and walked over to his conference table. He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "Calm down, Lida. I promise you we’ll have eyes on you every second you’re in the Casino or away from it. You are the only agent we can pull who has the skill set and the background for this operation." Special Agent-in-Charge Charles Hollister looked at the pretty, young, brunette woman in front of him. "I promise you; you’ll be safe."
Lida shook her head. "You, you just don't get this, do you? I am not an agent. I’m a forensic accountant with the FBI. In no way have I ever wanted to chase the bad guys on the street. I have no training to do this and the thought of walking into the operations center for the Dixie Mafia scares me to death.” Lida was close to tears. She brushed her hand across her eyes to hide them from her boss.
Hollister nodded. "Lida, you've got plenty of smarts about you and you certainly have been trained as an FBI agent. You know the basic practices of a field agent. You can take a few days to review and visit the range with your weapon. Plus, I'll have agency eyes on you twenty-four/seven. You'll be safe."