Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contact
Dedication
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
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Father Figure
By
Richard C Hale
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Richard C Hale. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of the text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material.
Cover Designed by: Richard C. Hale
Cover Model: Nicole Wetzel
Cover Photography: Genovision Photography
http://www.genovisionphotography.com/
Nicole’s Tattoo Artistry by Randy Keener of Onpoint Ink
http://onpointink.com/Galleries_Randy.html
Copyright ©Richard C. Hale 2014
Please Visit the Author’s Website at:
http://www.richardchaleauthor.com
Richard always answers e-mails. Drop by the website and say ‘Hello!’
For Ashley
Chapter 1
The man’s skin peeled off in jagged tears as his screams filled the empty warehouse.
The Owner didn’t really enjoy this part of his work, a necessary evil to send the appropriate message, but there was satisfaction in knowing he had the power.
He nodded to the Doctor, his moniker something all feared, and with a violent delicacy that seemed contrary to the task, he gripped another section of skin with the pliers and ripped. More screams and then some retching.
The man’s partner was pushed to his knees and forced to watch. He vomited, not from the vision but from the fear that he was next. The partner struggled, but was no match for the two men who held him down. He would have to see.
The man suspended from the chains, skin hanging in tattered sections from his waist, had no name. At least not one The Owner cared about. All he wanted was to send a message, and that message was not to fuck with his business. These two had fucked with his livelihood, and no one, especially these two-bit-pieces-of-shit, was going to move in on his action.
The Doctor pulled the last section of skin slowly from the man’s torso, seeming to savor the pain it caused him. The Owner had to look away.
“Enough,” he said.
The Doctor nodded, looking disappointed.
The skinned man shook violently on the chain from cold and made a noise that The Owner had never heard a human make.
“Finish it,” he said.
The Doctor pressed the muzzle of a gun to the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
The blast was deafening in the large space and reverberated off the walls for a few seconds. The man’s shivering ceased and silence settled into the warehouse.
Except for the crying of the other man.
The Owner walked up to the partner and pulled his head up by the hair.
“Get a good look my friend. I want you to remember this. I want you to never forget.”
The man looked at him with crazed eyes.
“You’re not going to kill me?”
“Why? Then no one would get the message. You’re my messenger. You fuck with me and this is the result.” He pointed to the skinned man.
The Owner bent over into the partner’s face.
“But if I hear of one sale, one freebie, even a hint that you’re back in business, I’ll find you and let you join your friend here, only I won’t be so forgiving. I’ll let you die slowly, shivering and screaming for hours. You hear me?”
The partner nodded quickly, unable to look away, the fear fuel for The Owner’s anger. He stood then and considered.
“Make him remember,” he said quietly, and walked away.
He really didn’t need to see what came next. It didn’t impress him any longer. As The Owner walked out of the warehouse to his waiting limo, the partner’s screams could be heard in the night. A couple fewer fingers was a fair price to pay for his actions.
Chapter 2
Jaxon Jennings picked the box up from his front porch and carried it inside.
It was heavy and it slipped in his hands but he caught it with his leg before it could fall. He hadn’t ordered anything. There was no return label, so he was curious as to what might be inside. No sense in dropping and breaking it before he even had the chance to open it.
He set it down quickly and called to Victoria, his wife. She was making dinner.
“Hey Vick. Did you order something?”
She poked her head around the corner and looked at the box.
“No. Is that your retirement stuff from DC?”
Jaxon looked at the box again and said, “No. At least I don’t think so. They said it was going to be a couple of months.”
Vick came into the foyer and looked it over. “I have no idea. Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know. There’s not a return address.”
She looked him in the eye.
“Do you think you should open it?”
Jaxon could imagine a number of scenarios which could be detrimental to his and Vick’s health, but that seemed far-fetched and overly dramatic. Still, maybe he should be cautious. He was beginning to think that bringing it inside might have been a mistake.
“Why don’t you go in the other room while I figure out what this is.”
“No way,” she said, grinning. “I want to see.”
He looked at her again and saw that she wasn’t going to budge.
“Your funeral.”
She gave him a look.
He pulled his pocketknife out and popped the blade. He slid it slowly under the tape and cut it from front to back. The flaps sprang up and he jumped. Vick took in a quick breath. Whatever was inside was straining to get out and had put some pressure on the seal.
Jaxon glanced her way and she gave a nod of her head as if to say, ‘Go on.’
He opened the flaps all the way and saw packing peanuts covering whatever was inside the box. If it was a bomb, whoever had packaged it had made sure it stayed protected. Jaxon could see nothing else inside. He pushed his hand in and felt around. His fingers brushed across a small rectangular object and he grasped it and pulled it out.
It was a flat, black box about four inches by four inches. He switched it to his other hand and slowly lifted the
hinged lid.
It was a medal. An old one.
He’d seen one of these before, a long time ago. The Distinguished Flying Cross was not something given lightly and would be considered somewhat rare, though not nearly as rare as The Medal Of Honor. Still, it was the highest military commendation an aviator could receive. He showed it to Vick.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s The Distinguished Flying Cross. A military medal.”
“Whose is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He felt safe that the rest of the contents would not explode so he attacked the peanuts with less caution, exposing more small boxes and objects.
They were all military in nature and framed or housed in display cases and boxes. Various medals and ribbons all chronicling a military career that had been somewhat distinguished. He handed each one to Vick as he pulled them from the shipping box and she set them all on a small table that held pictures and knick-knacks.
“Are you sure this is meant for you?” she asked.
He turned the box around and showed her the shipping label. It was addressed to him alone.
“This is weird,” she said.
“No shit.”
Jaxon grabbed a leather bound book and turned it over in his hands. It was a yearbook from the US Naval Academy, Class of 1960. His hands began to sweat.
“What the…?”
Vick came around and looked over his shoulder as he opened the worn book.
“Is there a name?”
Jaxon flipped to the inside cover and a number of signatures and snippets from friends and classmates lay scribbled and faded on the worn pages. They were all written to Bill.
Jaxon handed the book to Vick and bent over the box pushing peanuts and packing paper out of the way as he quickly searched through the rest of the contents. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“What is this stuff?” Vick said, flipping through the pages. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t understand.” Jaxon said.
“You don’t understand what?”
Jaxon found what he was looking for and pulled it out of the box.
It was a picture. A man in the uniform of the United States Marine Corps. He held his hat tucked under his arm and smiled proudly into the camera. The insignia on his lapel read ‘Jennings.’
“It’s my dad,” Jaxon said.
“How could that be?” Vick asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Who would send this to you?”
Jaxon slowly shook his head, lost in thought. He had no idea.
His father had died six months ago and Jaxon was the only member of his family left alive.
Chapter 3
Ray Maningham sat in the car and stared off into space. This was not what he expected of his new job.
He sat parked down the street from one Mary Beth Rothstein’s house and was bored out of his mind. The private investigative work he was now doing was far less glamorous than the movies and novels made it out to be.
When he had called Jaxon Jennings and taken him up on his offer after getting fired from the Florida Fish and Wildlife services, he had actually been excited to be doing something new. Jaxon had said he would be a perfect fit and now he was wondering if that had been some kind of insult. Was he really that boring?
This was the worst job of his entire life. Even worse than working for the seafood shop as a kid where he came home smelling to high heaven every night and his mom would make him take off his clothes in the garage and head straight for the shower. That job had sucked.
Jaxon told him it would get better. Every case would not entail hours of surveillance or reams of paperwork. Ray felt sure Jaxon was lying. At least it was a job.
Twelve months ago, when Ray had helped Jaxon rescue a woman from a psychopath who had sent them all on a scavenger hunt from hell, he had gone rogue and stepped over the line of the law one too many times and it had cost him his job. Ray was not one to bend the rules, much less break them, and it was like a slap in the face when the judgment came down from internal affairs. Still, he would have done the same again. The woman had survived and that had been worth it. Busted rules and all.
His chief would have overlooked all the small petty laws he had broken, but when Ray had discharged his firearm in Miami and wounded a civilian (even though that civilian had been shooting back at him), that had been one line crossed the chief could not dismiss. He was terminated. It had been the worst day of his life and he was still bitter.
Michelle, his fiancée at the time, had stood by his side, but when he started drinking too much and spending too much time sleeping and lying around the house, she had finally had enough and told him to call her when he got his shit together.
He couldn’t blame her. He had been a total wreck and couldn’t stop taking it out on everyone around him. Her, worst of all. He never hit her, but he did a lot of yelling. The neighbors had even called the police once. That had been the last straw for her and she left him. He knew he deserved it.
Calling Jaxon had been the last resort. Ray had him to thank for turning things around, but underneath he was still pissed at him. Some days he wished he had never met Jaxon Jennings.
He picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. When he found Michelle’s number he brought it up, and for what seemed the fiftieth time today, his thumb hovered over the send button. He couldn’t seem to push it.
“Shit,” he said aloud and put the phone down.
When you had a lot of free time your mind tended to relive all the shit you had fucked up. Too bad Ray had lots of free time lately.
A car passed slowly on his left and he watched it stop in front of the house he was watching and then move on. He noted the make and license, and wrote it down in his notepad. He did not recognize the vehicle.
Mary Beth Rothstein was a wife, married only a few months. Not a particularly good wife, but still married all the same. Her husband was Ben Rothstein, a local building contractor, and he had a pretty good idea his wife was not living up to their vows. Ray knew for sure she was not, but he had yet to provide the proof and that is why he sat waiting in the dark with a camera resting next to him. The little prick she was fooling around with was a sneaky bastard and Ray had missed him on his last two visits. Tonight would be different. Ray could feel it.
The same car worked its way back past him. He grabbed the camera with the night vision lens and held it at the ready. The car stopped in front of the Rothstein house and the passenger door opened. The internal lights did not come on.
A figure emerged from the passenger side and the car drove off as the door shut behind him. The man wore a hood. He looked left and then right, his face exposed and Ray snapped the shot. He looked at the display and cursed. It was blurry.
The hooded figure moved to the front door and walked right in without pausing. Ray would have to do this the hard way.
He grabbed his cell, put it on silent and got out with the camera. He scanned the neighborhood and determined no one was about. He was glad he had decided to wear black tonight. The moonless night would help to make him invisible.
He walked the short distance to the Rothstein home and crossed the yard to the hedge on the left front of the house. The master bedroom. Ray watched the light come on in the window and knew that he would have a good view. He only needed a bit of luck with the curtains and he would be in business.
On a previous visit, he had tried the same thing he was doing now, but the curtains had been fully closed and he had no view inside. He could hear them, but that did not do him much good except to provide him with entertainment for a few minutes.
Tonight, as he crept through a break in the hedge and made his way to the window, he could see a crack of light through the curtains and smiled to himself. He’d get the shot.
The area was littered with twigs and leaves so he had to move slowly. He didn’t know how much they could hear but he didn’t want to tes
t it either. He was taking the last step that would position him in front of the window when the twig he stepped on snapped. It sounded like a cannon in the night.
A shadow approached the window and he stepped back, pressing himself up against the wall. Mary Beth pushed the curtain over and peered outside. Ray held his breath.
After looking around for a minute, she let the curtain fall back into place and moved away from the window.
Ray could hear mumbled voices, but could not make out the words. He let the air he was holding out and shook his head, scolding himself. He would have to do better.
He found better footing, moved in front of the window and was elated to see Mary Beth had been careless closing the curtain. There was just enough of a crack for him to see the two inside, embracing. This should be good.
He watched the two kiss for a few minutes, their hands almost ripping the clothes off each other and Ray decided this might be a good show. They were pretty into it. It took only a few minutes for them to shed all their clothing. Ray raised the camera and turned the night vision off. He wouldn’t need it in the lighted room. He pressed the eyepiece against his eye and took a shot.
When he looked at it in the LCD screen, it was blurry. The auto-focus was trying to determine what to focus on. He flipped a switch and turned it off.
He brought the camera up to his face and looked through the viewfinder. They were gone.
They had moved to the bed and he shifted position trying to get a good shot through the crack in the curtain. He could only see their feet and lower legs. Shit! He took a picture of them, manually focusing, and it looked perfect. Too bad it could be anyone’s legs.
He crouched lower, trying to find a better spot and the curtain shifted in the breeze as the AC came on. The two came into view and then were hidden again. As the curtain moved in the air currents, Ray tried timing the shot and missed a couple of times, but got one of her face as her lover worked his way down her body. You could not see his face. Finally the man turned and Ray got a profile shot. Bingo. Gotcha’ Asshole.
Father Figure (A Jaxon Jennings' Detective Mystery Thriller Series, Book 3) Page 1