The Jack Frost Thrillers - Box Set

by Ray Hoy

  She pushed her chair back and stood. As I got to my feet, she said, “I love that ‘Ah shucks’ routine, you faker. C’mon, let’s go down to the lake and walk on the beach.”

  “Before we do that, I want to treat you to some great entertainment. Dave Fabrizio is an old friend, and right about now he should be starting his gig.”

  “Fabrizio?”

  “He’s a great musician. You’ll love him.”

  Chapter 18

  We found Dave Fabrizio playing to an appreciative crowd at an upscale restaurant/bar in South Lake Tahoe. He was standing at his keyboard, belting out a song, but he still found a moment to give us a huge smile and call out a “Hey, Jack!” right in the middle of his lyrics.

  As we sat down at one of the few empty tables, B.J. smiled at me. “Oh, you’re right, he is good,” she said.

  We ordered, and our drinks arrived just as Dave finished his set. I stood as he approached our table, a huge smile on his face.

  We shook hands. “Dave, this is B.J., a friend of mine; and B.J., this is the one and only Dave Fabrizio.”

  “I love your music, Dave!”

  “Thanks, B.J., I appreciate that.” We sat down and talked small talk for a little bit. B.J., apparently sensing that Dave and I wanted to talk about something, stood. “Will you fellas excuse me, I’m going to find the lady’s room.”

  We both got to our feet, old-fashioned guys that we are, until she walked away, then settled back into our chairs.

  “What’s going on, Jack? Just before I started my gig today, a very rough looking fellow asked about you. I told him I had no idea who Jack Frost was, but he clearly didn’t believe me. The guy gave me the creeps.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Like an old-fashioned torpedo. I didn’t know guys like that still existed.”

  We both laughed. “Unfortunately, they do,” I said.

  “He was in his forties, I’d say, with a big scar running down the right side of his face. A weightlifter, maybe, around six feet and 300 pounds or so.”

  I mulled that over for a moment. It had to be Tino. He’d been itching for a chance to rough me up when I’d gone to Giovanni’s office for our little chit-chat.

  Dave studied me intently. “I gather this guy’s not a drinkin’ buddy.”

  I brought him up to speed with my situation. I finished just as B.J. walked up. We both got to our feet again, and I held her chair, which brought a smile to her face.

  “Such gentlemen,” she said. “I must say, it’s very nice, something I never saw a lot of in Las Vegas.”

  “Vegas and Tahoe are day and night,” Dave said with a grin. “Hey, it’s been great, but I have to get back to work.” He took B.J.’s hand as he got to his feet. “Nice meeting you.”

  “I’ll be around to see you again, Dave.”

  Dave looked at me and said, “Don’t be a stranger, Jack.”

  * * *

  We drove back to Humpty’s Dump, where B.J. had left her car. I parked the Jag and opened B.J.‘s door and held it while she got out.

  “I’m getting used to this,” she said with a smile. “And I think I really like it.”

  We walked toward her car, laughing and talking, when suddenly our conversation was interrupted by a deep voice behind us.

  “Frost! Hold it right there!”

  I stopped and turned to face the huge bruiser who was standing a few feet away. Sun glinted off the star on his chest.

  I squared up and gently pushed B.J. away from me, out of harm’s way.

  “I thought I told you to get out of town, Frost,” the lawman said. “Yet here you are.”

  “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Sheriff,” I said in my best raspy Clint Eastwood voice.

  I could see a wide-eyed B.J. out of the corner of my eye. I tried to smother a chuckle, and failed. Then I started laughing and the huge lawman joined in. We walked toward each other, arms outstretched.

  He was damn near my height, and maybe fifty pounds heavier. After we hugged and smacked each other on the back, we stood there, shaking hands and grinning like damn fools.

  “Why, Sheriff Johnson, how nice to see you again,” I said. “And by the way, congratulations!”

  “Why thank you, Jack. Didja vote for me?

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I hope I don’t live to regret it.”

  B.J. was now all smiles.

  “B.J., this is Bill Johnson, an old friend of mine and the newly-elected Sheriff of Douglas County. And Bill, this lovely lady is B.J., no last name . . . like Cher, you know . . . just B.J.”

  The Sheriff laughed and stepped forward, his hand extended. “Glad to meet you, B.J., no last name.” As he shook her hand, his face took on a concerned look. “My dear lady, you do know that this is the guy your mother warned you about, don’t you?”

  B.J. laughed. “Naw, he’s harmless, Sheriff.”

  “Oh, my God,” Sheriff Johnson said with mock dismay, “you really don’t know anything about him, do you! Well, I warned you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Sheriff,” B.J. said with a smile. Then she looked at me. “Jack, I have to be at work in thirty minutes. I’ve gotta run.”

  “Ah, that’s too bad,” I said, meaning it.

  “Yeah, it sure is,” B.J. said with a sultry little smile.

  “What time do you get off?”

  “Midnight. Gonna pick me up?”

  “See you then.”

  B.J. smiled at me, then touched Sheriff Bill’s arm and gave him a dazzling smile as she turned and walked away.

  Bill looked at me. “That’s one beautiful woman.”

  “Sure is,” I said.

  “You two a thing?”

  “No, just friends.”

  “C’mon, Jack, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  That meant good ol’ Sheriff Bill had something to talk to me about. We walked a few yards before he stopped me with a big hand on my shoulder.

  “Jack . . . . Something goin’ on here that I should know about?”

  “Well, Bill . . . if you have a few minutes, I’ll tell you an interesting story.”

  We spent a half-hour over coffee while I filled him in with what happened in Las Vegas—and before that—and what might possibly happen here in his jurisdiction.

  Bill let out a sigh. “Okay, I got the picture. Now then, you’re carrying, right? And you’re legal, and all . . . .”

  I nodded. “I’m carrying, and I’ve got a permit. I know how these things work, Bill. Seems like there are three lawyers for every civilian in the country. You shoot someone in your own house and you get sued by the guy’s relatives. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

  Sheriff Bill laughed. “Well, better it happens here in Nevada, than in California.”

  We both laughed and agreed on that one.

  “Too bad we can’t register that dog of yours,” Sheriff Bill said. “Talk about a lethal weapon.”

  “A misunderstood, lovable puppy.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, under the circumstances, I’m sure he’s comforting to have around.”

  “That he is . . . . Look, Bill, if things start heating up, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

  “I’d appreciate that, Jack; I don’t like surprises.”

  “I don’t either. We had enough of them in Somalia,” I said.

  Bill nodded. “Yes we did . . . we surely did.” And with that, he lunged to his feet and dropped a few bills on the table. “Nice seeing you again, Jack, but duty calls. Stay in touch, and don’t get careless, you hear?”

  Chapter 19

  I was at Harrah’s fifteen minutes early. I strolled through the crowd on the main casino floor, then walked back to the sportsbook, which was now closed and dark. I returned to the main gaming area and parked myself on a casino bar stool while I waited for B.J. to get off work.

  About ten minutes after midnight she showed up, looking a bit tired but all smiles. As I got to my feet she grabbed me by the hand and towed me toward an exit.


  “Let’s go somewhere and have a drink.”

  “Well, if you insist,” I said, “but I must warn you that I can’t hold my liquor too well. I might get a little wild.”

  “God, I hope so,” she said with a laugh.

  We walked out the rear exit and started across the parking lot. It was a beautiful Lake Tahoe night, and I had a delightful young woman on my arm. I smiled to myself. Life is good, Frost, life is—

  That peaceful thought was interrupted by the nasty bumble bee whine of a bullet from a high-powered rifle passing too close to my head for comfort. The passenger side window of a parked Lincoln dead ahead exploded as the round made contact.

  B.J. let out a hoarse cry and covered her head as I pushed her to the ground behind the closest shelter I could find—a white Mini-Cooper parked next to the Lincoln. The Mini suddenly seemed smaller than I remembered—too damn small—but we hadn’t had time to make it to the shelter of the larger Lincoln.

  I didn’t bother to pull my weapon; I instinctively knew that the shooter was using a sniper’s rifle with a nightscope, and he was way out of pistol range.

  A second round ripped over the top of the Mini and I heard another window shatter.

  “Jeez, Frost, what’s going on!” B.J. said, her hands still covering her head. I wrapped an arm around her and realized she was shaking.

  “Maybe I didn’t leave the bartender a big enough tip,” I said, which drew a nervous laugh from a scared-but-game B.J.

  “Yeah, well this guy seems really pissed.”

  We waited for a few minutes. “C’mon,” I said, “Follow me, and keep your head down!”

  We snaked our way through the parking lot, moving as fast and low as we could. We paused for a moment as we neared my Jag. I cautiously looked around but there were tall dark pines everywhere, a thousand places where the guy could be hiding.

  We made a dash for the Jag. I found myself wishing that I’d left the top up, but it was too late now. We jumped in and I fired up the engine and powered out of the parking lot.

  I followed the loop road behind Harrah’s down to Highway 50, where I turned right and headed out of town. I put my right hand up into the windstream. The cool air felt good.

  I took a deep breath and looked at a still-rattled B.J. She was fighting tears. I reached over and touched her hand.

  “You okay? We’re safe now.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment or two, but then finally took my hand and squeezed it.

  “Is this a ‘normal’ day in the life of Jack Frost?” she said, trying her best to force a small smile.

  “Oh yeah, just another day,” I said with a grin.

  She took a deep breath. “Why would someone try to kill us?” she said.

  “He wasn’t trying to kill us B.J., he was trying to kill me.”

  “This has something to do with whatever happened in Las Vegas, doesn’t it,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question. I was aware of her looking intently at me, waiting for my answer.

  “What do you say we drive over to Reno and have that drink,” I said.

  Chapter 20

  I opened my eyes, suddenly wide awake. I lay motionless, listening to the night sounds.

  Something woke me, but what?

  I glanced at the clock on the dresser. The red digital numbers showed 3:30 a.m.

  Then I heard it again. It was Ripper, sitting on his haunches in a corner of the bedroom, making low crying sounds in his throat.

  Next to me, B.J. sat up too, and touched my shoulder. “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Ripper,” I said softly.

  “Why is he making that sound?”

  “I don’t know; I’ve never heard him do that.”

  Ripper got to his feet and stared at me for a few seconds, then slowly turned and padded through the doorway and out into the living room.

  I got out of bed and walked to the doorway. I stood there for a few moments, searching the dark living room. Ripper, virtually invisible, stood by the front door, still making that low, moaning sound in his throat. It was a sad sound, and a little eerie.

  I walked to the window and parted the curtains slightly and looked outside. Lake Tahoe, just a few yards away, glittered under a full moon. Tree branches around the perimeter of the yard swayed gently in the breeze, but other than that nothing was moving.

  Ripper finally settled to the floor, his nose resting on his front paws. He looked deflated somehow.

  “What’s going on in there, Ripper?” I said quietly.

  He didn’t respond.

  I wandered back into the bedroom and got into bed.

  “Is he okay?” B.J. said.

  “I don’t know. That’s an odd one.”

  She snuggled up next to me and laid her head on my chest. “He sounds mournful,” she said.

  “Yeah, he does,” I replied.

  I had a tough time getting back to sleep. I thought about the ambush in Harrah’s parking lot. Something was wrong. Either the shooter was a poor shot or the sniper rifle was new to him. Or . . . maybe he just meant to send me a message that there was more to come.

  I’ve been shot at plenty of times, but it’s something you never get used to. For B.J. the eye-opening experience had been traumatic and downright scary. I shook my head. I sure as hell didn’t mean for her to be pulled into this.

  I tossed and turned. I rolled on to my back and stared at the ceiling, my mind playing back the promise I’d made to Giovanni when we’d had our little discussion in Las Vegas: Send your best, but you only get one try . . . if he fails, and you send another, I’m coming after you.

  Was that really a serious try? I couldn’t convince myself that it was. However, I know myself pretty well. If there is another attempt—and I’m pretty sure there will be—I will go after the arrogant bastard, and on his own turf.

  My cellphone rang at 5:00 a.m. Phone calls that early in the morning never bring good news.

  I fumbled for the phone. “Frost,” I said.

  “Mr. Frost . . . I’m so sorry to wake you . . .”

  I recognized Fred’s voice, Jilly’s ancient butler. I sat up in bed.

  “Mr. Frost . . . it’s about Mrs. Evans,” Fred said, his voice cracking.

  “Fred, what’s wrong?”

  There was a pause. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Frost, but . . . Mrs. Evans suffered a stroke . . . she’s gone . . . Mrs. Evans is gone . . . ”

  Fred’s voice trailed off. I got out of bed and walked into the living room while I tried to catch my breath.

  “My God,” I said softly, almost to myself. “Vi is dead?”

  “Yes . . . Mr. Jilly woke me at three-thirty, and I called for an ambulance, but it was too late. The medical examiner arrived a little while ago. They’ll be taking Mrs. Evans away in just a few minutes. Mr. Jilly will go with her, of course.”

  I turned and looked at Ripper, who once again sat on his haunches, staring at me with the saddest eyes.

  “Three-thirty . . . .” I said. I took a deep, shuddering breath, then got myself together. “Fred . . . how’s Jilly? His heart—”

  “—Could you come over, please?”

  I don’t think Fred had ever interrupted another person in his entire life. He quickly started to apologize but he was thoroughly rattled. I saved him further embarrassment with a quick, “I’m on my way, Fred.”

  The old fellow mumbled his thanks and hung up. I stood there for a moment, staring into Ripper’s unblinking brown eyes. He looked detached now, as if he were somewhere else. An involuntary shiver went through me as I headed for the shower.

  Twenty minutes later I gathered B.J. and Ripper and hurried them out of my A-frame. I locked the door behind me and shooed my companions toward the Jag.

  B.J. wanted to go with me. This was too private, I explained, too damn painful for everyone. I was relieved when I saw that she understood. I dropped B.J. off at her place, then headed for Reno.

  Chapter 21<
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  I wasn’t in the mood for jogging. Ripper seemed to share my feelings, so we just silently walked the shoreline. It was just getting light. The lake, always beautiful, was especially so this morning—and it was quiet, eerily quiet.

  It had been a week since we’d buried Vi. I spent as much time as I could with a shattered Jilly before I realized that what he really needed was some time to himself—time to mourn.

  The funeral had been a heart-rending experience, as I expected it would be. Jilly had completely broken down, and the sight of that tough old man sobbing into his hands had rattled me completely.

  I was suddenly aware of Ripper looking up at me. Vi’s death had affected him, too. How he had known that she had died that morning is beyond me, but I’m convinced he did know. And like me, he has not been himself since that dreadful day.

  My mind drifted back to that night in Harrah’s parking lot, when someone took a couple of shots at us. The shooter had either been an amateur, or he hadn’t been familiar with the high powered rifle he’d used, or . . . perhaps he simply wanted to let me know that he could have easily killed me then and there.

  I think the waiting is just about over.

  That thought popped into my head loud and clear. I looked down at Ripper. “You want to take a little drive to Vegas, Ripper?” The big dog looked up at me. “Okay then, that’s what we’ll do,” I said.

  We turned around and headed back to the cabin. I decided to spend the day wrapping up a few loose ends, then leave for Vegas early in the morning. But first I wanted to drive over to Reno to see Jilly one more time, and let him know where I’m going and what I intend to do. I know he’ll try to talk me out of it, but he won’t try too hard—he knows me pretty well.

  I also decided to call B.J. and invite her to dinner. She’d called me several times over the past week, wanting to see me, and each time I had begged off. She seemed to understand that I needed some time to myself.

  * * *