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But then one of her clients turns up dead, and Charlene disappears. Rumors say Charlene was having an affair with the victim--and of course, everyone assumes Joy must know where she is. Joy begins to look into the crime, first out of curiosity then out of anger when there is another murder and threats start to come her way.
When police detective Mulberry is assigned to the case, Joy finds a kindred spirit--cynical and none-too-fond of the human race. As they dig deep into the secrets of Manhattan's elite, they not only get closer to the killer but to a treasure that might be worth risking everything to take.
About The Author
Emily Kimelman graduated from NYU with a degree in the history of homicide, forensic science, and detective novels. She worked as a dog walker while obtaining that degree. When not writing Emily works with her husband, Sean Gilvey, in their glassblowing studio and gallery in Philadelphia.
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Like A Great Thriller? Then we think you’ll love this FREE excerpt from our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Mainak Dhar’s Thriller ALICE IN DEADLAND – Over 175 Rave Reviews on Amazon! – Just 99 Cents or FREE via Kindle Lending Library!
Just the other day we announced that Mainak Dhar’s suspense-filled ALICE IN DEADLAND was our new Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!
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The sensational Amazon.com bestseller. #1 Science Fiction and Horror bestseller. More than 50,000 copies sold in less than three months.
Civilization as we know it ended more than fifteen years ago, leaving as it’s legacy barren wastelands called the Deadland and a new terror for the humans who survived- hordes of undead Biters.
Fifteen year-old Alice has spent her entire life in the Deadland, her education consisting of how best to use guns and knives in the ongoing war for survival against the Biters. One day, Alice spots a Biter disappearing into a hole in the ground and follows it, in search of fabled underground Biter bases.
What Alice discovers there propels her into an action-packed adventure that changes her life and that of all humans in the Deadland forever. An adventure where she learns the terrible conspiracy behind the ruin of humanity, the truth behind the origin of the Biters, and the prophecy the mysterious Biter Queen believes Alice is destined to fulfill.
A prophecy based on the charred remains of the last book in the Deadland- a book called Alice in Wonderland.
If you enjoy Alice in Deadland, also check out Zombiestan by Mainak Dhar for another action packed thriller with a unique twist on the zombie genre and Vimana the Amazon.com sci-fi bestseller by Mainak Dhar.
Learn more about the world of Alice in Deadland and engage with the author and other readers at the new Alice in Deadland Facebook Group. Go to facebook.com/groups/345795412099089.
This story has a great premise, and the delivery flows from one chapter to the next without any missing chunks or awkward pacing. A tale well told, and I look forward to anything written by this fertile author.
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the hill, and of having no Biters to shoot. Once or twice she peeped through her sniper rifle’s scope, but could see no targets. ‘What is the use of an ambush’, thought Alice, ‘without any Biters to shoot in the head?’
Alice was fifteen, and had been born just three months after The Rising. Her older sister and parents sometimes talked of how the world had been before. They talked of going to the movies, of watching TV, of taking long drives in the countryside, of school. Alice could relate to none of that. The only life she had known was one of hiding from the Biters. The only education that she knew to be useful consisted of three simple lessons – if a Biter bites you, you will become one of them; if a Biter bites someone you know, it doesn’t matter whether that person was your best friend, they were now a Biter and would rip your throat out in a heartbeat; and if you could take only one shot, aim for the head. Only the head. Nothing else would put a Biter down for good.
So here she was, lying on a small hillock, her rifle at her shoulder, waiting to pick off any stragglers who escaped the main force. The first few years of her life had been one of hiding, and of surviving from one day to another. But then the humans had begun to regroup and fight back, and the world had been engulfed in a never-ending war between the living and the undead. Alice’s parents were part of the main assault force that was now sweeping through a group of Biters that had been spotted near their settlement. She could hear the occasional pop of guns firing, but so far no Biters had come their way. Her sister was lying quietly, as always obedient and somber. Alice could not imagine just lying here, getting bored when the action was elsewhere, so she crawled away to the edge of the small hill they were on and peered through her scope, trying to get a glimpse of the action.
That’s when she saw him. The Biter was wearing pink bunny ears of all things. That in itself did not strike Alice as strange. When someone was bitten and joined the undead, they just continued to wear what they had been wearing when they were turned. Perhaps this one had been at a party when he had been bitten. The first Biter she had shot had been wearing a tattered Santa Claus suit. Unlike kids before The Rising, she had not needed her parents to gently break the news that Santa Claus was not real. What was truly peculiar about this Biter was that he was not meandering about mindlessly but seemed to be looking for something. The Biters were supposed to be mindless creatures, possessed of no intelligence other than an overpowering hunger to bite the living. She braced herself, centering the crosshairs of her scope on the Biter’s head. He was a good two hundred meters away and moving fast, so it was hardly going to be an easy shot.
That’s when the Biter with the bunny ears dropped straight into the ground.
Alice looked on, transfixed, and then without thinking of what she was getting into, ran towards the point where the Biter had seemingly been swallowed up by the ground. Her heart was pounding as she came closer. For months there had been rumors that the Biters had created huge, underground bases where they hid and from which they emerged to wreak havoc. There were stories of entire human armies being destroyed by Biters who suddenly materialized out from the ground and then disappeared. However, nobody had yet found such a base and these stories were largely dismissed as being little more than fanciful fairy tales. Had Alice managed to find such a base?
Her excitement got the better of her caution, and she ran on alone. She should have alerted her sister, she should have called for reinforcements, she should have done a lot of things. But at that moment, all she remembered was where the Biter had dropped into the ground and of what would happen if she had truly found an underground Biter base. She was an excellent shot, far better than most of the adults in the settlement, and she was fast. If there was one thing she had been told by all her teachers since she started training, it was that she was a born fighter. She could put a man twice her size on the mat in the wink of an eye, and she had shown her mettle in numerous skirmishes against the Biters. Yet, she was not allowed to lead raids far from the settlement. That had always grated, but with her father being one of the leaders of the settlement, she was unable to do anything to change that. He claimed that her excellent shooting and scouting skills were better used in defensive roles close to their settlement, and had promised her that when she was older he would reconsider, but she knew that was a nervous father speaking, not the leader of their settlement.
This could change all that.
Suddenly she felt the ground give way under her and she felt herself falling. She managed to hold onto her rifle, but found herself sliding down a smooth, steep and curving slope. There seemed to be no handholds or footholds for her to slow her descent or to try and climb back up. She looked up to see the hole through which light was streaming in disappear as the tunnel she was falling down curved and twisted.
Alice screamed as she continued falling in utter darkness.
***
It took Alice a few minutes to get her bearings, as she was totally disoriented in the dark and also winded by her fall. She saw that her fall had been broken by a thick cushioning of branches and leaves. She had heard whispers that the Biters were not the mindless drones that many adults dismissed them to be, but those accounts had been dismissed by most people as fanciful tales. She wondered if there was some truth to those rumors after all. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw a sliver of light to her right and crawled towards it. As she went deeper into the tunnel, while she still could not see much, the smell was unmistakable. The rotten stench that she knew came from only one possible source- the decayed bodies of the undead. Even though she had seen the aftermath of many a skirmish with the Biters, and was no stranger to the stench, she found herself gagging. As she came closer to the light, she saw that the tunnel opened into a small room that was lit by crudely fashioned torches hung on the walls.
She could hear some voices and as she peeped around the corner, she saw that the rabbit-eared Biter she had followed down was in animated conversation with two others. One of them was, or rather had been in life, perhaps a striking young woman. Now her skin was yellowing and decayed and hung in loose patches on her face. Her clothes were tattered and bloodied. The other Biter with her was a plump, short man who seemed to have the better part of his left side torn off, perhaps by a mine or a grenade. Alice had been around weapons for as long as she could remember, and while all humans now needed to be able to defend themselves, Alice had shown a special talent for fighting, perhaps one her mother did not always approve of. Her mother had wanted Alice to do as the other young people did and stand on guard duty close to the settlements, but Alice had always wanted to be in the forefront, to feel the thrill that came with it. Now, Alice thought, she had perhaps got more thrills than she had ever bargained for. She was trapped in an underground Biter base, with no apparent way out.
The Biters were talking in a mixture of growls and moans, but they seemed to be communicating with each other. Now that she got a closer look at the rabbit-eared Biter she had followed in, she realized that he had been in life not much older than her. Perhaps he had been on his way to a costume party when he had been bitten. As he turned his head, Alice saw what may have once been a smile now replaced by a feral grin that revealed bloodied teeth.
Alice’s heart stopped as Bunny Ears looked straight at her. For a second she hoped that he had not seen her, but he bared his teeth and emitted a screeching howl that sent a shiver up her spine. As all three Biters turned to look at her, she exploded into action.
Alice’s grasp of the alphabet may have been tenuous despite her mother’s many failed attempts to teach her the languages of yore. But after The Rising, Alice saw no use for them- there were no books to read, and no time to read them even if they had remained. But what Alice excelled in school at, and could do almost without conscious thought, was how to thumb the safety off her handgun and bring it up to a two handed hold within three seconds. The first shot took the fat Biter squarely in the forehead and he went down with an unceremonious flop. As the two others bore down on her in the slight loping, lumbering gait the Biters were known for, she fired again and again, the shots from her gun echoing in the underground cavern. She hit the female Biter at least twice in the chest and then knocked her flat with a head shot. Bunny Ears was now barely a few feet away when Alice’s handgun clicked empty. She cursed under her breath at her horrible aim, realizing just how much easier it was to shoot at targets in practice or snipe from hundreds of meters away compared to being so close to Biters out for her blood, and with her heart hammering so fast she could barely keep her hands straight, let alone aim.
Alice heard footsteps and howls behind her, and realized with a stab of panic that she was now well and truly trapped between Bunny Ears and others who may have come behind her down the hole.
She looked around frantically and saw a small opening in the wall to her right. She ran towards Bunny Ears, diving down at the last minute beneath his outstretched fingers that were crusted over with dried blood. Alice stood only about five feet tall, and was lean, but she had been top of her class in unarmed combat. She swept her legs under the Biter, coming up in one seamless motion as Bunny Ears fell down in a heap. She ran towards the hole in the wall and turned around to see at least four more Biters coming behind her.
Alice fumbled at her belt and took the lone flash bang grenade she had slung there. As she ran into the hole she pulled the pin and rolled it on the ground behind her, and then continued to run at full speed into the darkness of the hole. She heard the thump of the grenade a few seconds later, hoping that the intense flash of light it emitted would slow down her pursuers for a few seconds and buy her some time.
With that hope came a sobering thought. Time to do what? She was stuck deep inside what seemed to be a Biter base, and was running ever deeper into its recesses. She was well and truly trapped.
***
Alice ran till she was out of breath and stopped, going down on her knees, more tired and scared than she had ever been. The darkness and narrowness of the passage she was in did not help, as it made her feel disoriented and claustrophobic. At least she could no longer hear footsteps behind her. That did not surprise her. While the flash bang would not stop the Biters, she knew they hated very bright light, and it would certainly have slowed them down. Also, she was a very fit young girl who could outrun most of the people in their settlement, whereas the Biters pursuing her, while feared for their feral violence, moved with their characteristic stiff, loping gait, which meant she would be able to outrun them in any flat out race. The problem was that she was trapped in their base, and all they had to do was to tire her out.
When she thought she heard distant footsteps behind her, her fear gave her a second wind and she started running again, clutching her side, which had begun to hurt from the exertion. She ran into a wall, and fell back hard on her back, realizing that the tunnel turned ahead of her. As she looked past the turning, she saw what appeared to be a door framed by light coming from behind it. She ran towards it, and as she came closer, she was stunned to see a familiar figure drawn on the door. It was a seal showing an eagle framed by letters that were barely visible in the light coming from behind it. She started trying to read the letters and got past the U, N and I before she realized she did not need to tax her limited reading skills to understand what it showed. She had seen a similar seal in old papers her father kept locked away in a dusty box. Once he had told her something about him having worked in the United States Embassy in New Delhi before The Rising. She had understood little of what he had meant, though other kids around the settlement had told her that her father had been some sort of important man in the governments of the Old World. They had told her that she and her family had come from another land called America, which was why her blond hair and fair skin looked so different from her brown friends. But none of that mattered much to Alice, or to anyone else anymore. The old governments and countries were long gone. Now all people, irrespective of their old countries, religions or politics were bound together in but one overriding compact- the need to survive in the face of the Biter hordes. She had heard tales of how human nations had waged wars against each other, driven by the Gods they worshipped, or the desire to grab oil. Alice remembered laughing when her teacher at the makeshift school in the settlement had told her class about those days. She had thought her teacher was telling them some tall tales. What was it the old folks called them? The ones who had read the books before the undead rose and the world burned.
Yes, fairy tales.
When Alice heard footsteps behind her, she was snapped back to reality, and she struggled with the door in front of her, trying desperately to open it. She found a handle and pulled it with all her strength, and finally found the door budging. The door was made of heavy metal, and it sapped all her strength to open it enough for her to slip through. She looked back through the open door and heard the roars before she saw shadows appear in the tunnel. She pulled the door shut, hoping that what she had heard about Biters being stupid was right. That old joke about how many Biters it took to open a door.
She took a look around the room she was in and saw that it was lit by a single small kerosene lamp on the ceiling, and was filled with papers and files that crammed the shelves lining the walls. There was a small desk in a corner and when she walked to it, she saw some old newspapers on it. She had never seen a newspaper in her life, and was fascinated by the pictures and words she saw. She didn’t need to read the words to know what they showed. They were relics of the last days during The Rising and its aftermath. There were grainy pictures of the first appearances of the undead, which she imagined for those who had never seen before them must have been quite a sight. Then there were pictures of burnt and charred cities- the remains of the Great Fire that the human governments had unleashed on so many cities when it seemed like all was lost. That was the barren, bleak landscape that Alice had known as home- the wastelands outside New Delhi, where millions had died in the Biter outbreak and then millions more as governments tried to contain the outbreak by using nuclear weapons on the key outbreak centers. Man had proven to be the most jealous of lovers, preferring to destroy the Earth rather than give her up. But it had not been enough, and in the fires of that apocalypse was born a renewed struggle for survival between humans and the undead in the wasteland that was now known simply as the Deadland.
Alice had been so transfixed by what she saw that she had forgotten all about securing the other doors to the room, and she screamed in agony when she realized that there was another door, partially obscured by a chair, which was ajar. She heard footsteps behind it, and realized that what she was taken for escape was in fact nothing more than a death trap.
She took out her handgun from her belt and as she felt for the safety, remembered with dismay that in all the chaos she had forgotten to reload. As she saw shadows enter the door, she realized she had no time for that any more. She unslung the sniper rifle from her shoulders. As such close quarters, there was no hope of her putting it to much use as a long range weapon, but there were other ways to make it count.
As a child, Alice had forever been getting into scrapes, and her parents would never tire of telling her to back down once in a while, instead of wading into every fight. But once after she had shot two Biters during a night-time raid, her father had got quite drunk to celebrate and told her that he loved her spirit and that no matter what the odds, she should never give into fear. To be afraid in the face of the undead was to die, or worse, to become one of them.
As Alice remembered her father’s words, she felt her fear slip away. She knew that the Biters tried to bite and turn every human they found, but also that the humans who fought back the hardest sometimes enraged them so much that they ripped them apart, killing them instead of turning them into the undead.
Better dead than undead.
That had been the motto of the school where they had been taught survival and combat skills. Whereas little girls before The Rising may have been playing with their toys or watching TV, Alice had grown up playing with guns, explosives and learning the best way to destroy the undead. And she had been the best in her class.
She was now swinging the rifle in front of her like a staff, moving it around her fingers so it cut sharp circles through the air. Three Biters came in, and as the first reached for her, she cracked him across the forehead and leaned toward him, sweeping his legs under him as he went down. The next up was a squat woman wearing the tattered, bloody remains of a saree, and incongruously enough, a huge diamond solitaire earring on her left ear. The right ear was missing. Alice delivered a roundhouse kick that sent Ms. Solitaire stumbling back and then reversed the sniper rifle in her hand, firing a single shot that disintegrated the Biter’s head. The third Biter, a tall man with his jaw missing, was almost upon her when she hit him hard in the face with the butt of her rifle. Biters might feel no pain, but it unbalanced him enough for Alice to jump back a few steps and put another round into his chest. Only a head shot would put down a Biter for good, but a high powered sniper rifle bullet did impressive enough damage and slowed one down no matter where it hit. A gaping hole opened in the Biter’s chest as he slumped back. Alice knew he’d be at her throat soon enough so she tried to chamber another round in her rifle.
That was when she felt her right arm caught in a cold, clammy grip that was so strong she screamed and dropped her rifle. Bunny Ears was back and he was bringing his face back to bite her arm. Alice kicked him in the shin, but he did not even wince as he came closer to delivering the bite that would be the last thing Alice felt before she became one of them.
Alice did the last thing he perhaps expected. She head-butted him and as he staggered back and loosened his grip on her arm, she vaulted over the desk and stood with her back to the wall. There were now no less than six Biters gathered in front of her, and Alice suppressed the welling panic within as she unsheathed the curved hunting knife that was always by her side. Bunny Ears snarled and screamed in rage, a hellish concerto that was soon taken up by all the Biters in the room. Alice had heard of this ritual before. It meant the Biters were going to rip some human apart instead of trying to convert them.Alice reversed the knife in her right hand and stood with her legs slightly spread apart, just as she had mastered in countless hours of unarmed combat practice. Her teacher there had been some sort of elite commando in the armies of the old governments, and he had told her she was his best student. She slowed her breathing, focusing on the creatures in front of her, trying to block out her fear, trying to still her mind. As Bunny Ears stepped toward her, she gripped the knife handle tight and readied herself.Better dead than undead.
***
Continued….
Click on the title below to download the entire book and keep reading
Alice in Deadland
by Mainak Dhar
Like A Great Thriller? Then we think you’ll love our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Mainak Dhar’s Thriller ALICE IN DEADLAND – Over 175 Rave Reviews on Amazon! – Just 99 Cents or FREE via Kindle Lending Library!
Alice in Deadland
Civilization as we know it ended more than fifteen years ago, leaving as it's legacy barren wastelands called the Deadland and a new terror for the humans who survived- hordes of undead Biters.
Fifteen year-old Alice has spent her entire life in the Deadland, her education consisting of how best to use guns and knives in the ongoing war for survival against the Biters. One day, Alice spots a Biter disappearing into a hole in the ground and follows it, in search of fabled underground Biter bases.
What Alice discovers there propels her into an action-packed adventure that changes her life and that of all humans in the Deadland forever. An adventure where she learns the terrible conspiracy behind the ruin of humanity, the truth behind the origin of the Biters, and the prophecy the mysterious Biter Queen believes Alice is destined to fulfill.
A prophecy based on the charred remains of the last book in the Deadland- a book called Alice in Wonderland.
If you enjoy Alice in Deadland, also check out Zombiestan by Mainak Dhar for another action packed thriller with a unique twist on the zombie genre and Vimana the Amazon.com sci-fi bestseller by Mainak Dhar.
Learn more about the world of Alice in Deadland and engage with the author and other readers at the new Alice in Deadland Facebook Group. Go to facebook.com/groups/345795412099089.
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Like A Great Thriller? Then we think you’ll love our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Mainak Dhar’s Thriller ALICE IN DEADLAND – Over 175 Rave Reviews on Amazon! – Just 99 Cents or FREE via Kindle Lending Library!
Like “Friday Nights Lights”? Then we think you’ll like this FREE excerpt from our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Scott Rempfer’s Thriller SEASONS OF CHANGE, BOOK 1 – Amazon Readers Have Rated This A 4.9 With All Rave Reviews – Just $2.99 or FREE via Kindle Lending Library!
Just the other day we announced that Scott Rempfer’s suspense-filled SEASONS OF CHANGE, BOOK 1 was our new Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!
Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Thriller excerpt, and we’re happy to share the news that this terrific read at $2.99 and FREE for Amazon Prime Members via Kindle Lending Library for Kindle Nation readers during its TOTW reign!
Seasons of Change, Book 1 (Germantown Series)
by Scott Rempfer
Eric heads into his senior year at Germantown High School determined to turn his life around. Fighting through drug and alcohol issues, his brother dead, his father gone, and longing for Sheila, his ex-girlfriend and support system, to return, Eric puts his hopes into leading the Black Knight football program to a title.
Trapped between crushing verbal abuse from his head coach and loving encouragement from his assistant coach, Eric must choose between forgiveness and sobriety or revenge and loss. What he doesn’t know is that the very man who continuously doubts and hurts him, actually needs him on and off the field.
What Readers Are Saying
Take a dose from a Dean Koontz’s psycho-thriller and a heaping of Friday Night Lights and you have Scott Rempfer’s SEASONS OF CHANGE. Rempfer weaves an insightful action-packed tale of the trouble and triumph, weakness and strength, darkness and light within the human spirit. You won’t be disappointed with this read. I highly recommend it.
– Phil Truman, Author of GAME: AN AMERICAN NOVEL
Seasons of Change is informative and concise in regards to Highschool football and its fan base. Small town or city highschool no matter, Seasons of Change captures and holds the imagination and hearts of everyone who was ever involved with this great sport. As the book and author point out so well highschool sports are more than the event itself, it is the particpation in a sports where there are life lessons and character building learned and earned. The book itself was written well with detail to intricacies of the game of football and those involved from the coaches to players, classmates, and parents. As a past football player and classmate, Seasons of Change allowed me to revisit a time that meant a great deal to me. I would highly recommend this book.
-Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
SEASONS OF CHANGE- GERMANTOWN 2007 SEASON
CHAPTER 1
Coach Razor climbed out of the grey aluminum canoe with his star halfback’s body slumped over his shoulder, dead. He spoke to no one. The muscular body lay face up on the pier, as Razor blankly gazed across the peaceful lake.
Jose was a cut above the average teenager but he shared the human need for inclusion and love, just the same. As the only Mexican player on the squad, and a freshman on varsity, he did not fit in. During the championship run he was hazed so heavily by a trio of jealous juniors, he contemplated telling his parents, but kept his mouth shut.
Away games were especially bad, and a trip to Antigo punctuated the hurt when he dipped his hand into his travel bag on the ride home, reaching for a snack. His nose detected the problem first and his urine soaked hands confirmed that someone or a collection of someone’s had soiled his belongings.
Monetarily, the bullying was expensive, over two hundred dollars worth of electronics ruined, but the emotional pounding he took was almost unbearable. He wasn’t disliked, he was hated. Covered by total darkness, sitting alone on the bus, he pulled his prized letterman jacket over his head and sobbed quietly. A physical giant can still be a boy.
In January, a month removed from football madness, Jose considered leaving the team, but as the snow melted and spring promised hope, he felt inspired again. Coach Razor invited him and a small group of varsity players up to the lake, a new and improved future seemed to be on the horizon.
James Morehouse was the most unlikely friend Jose Benvara gained the spring after the 1997 championship. James’s toes were firmly placed on the white chalk of the sidelines as Jose galloped into the record books and hogged the headlines, yet a bond in the weight room seemed to be flourishing. Morehouse shared lifting tips with Jose and a five -man warrior pack created an exhausting physical routine that demanded five weight room workouts and one “Knight” session a week.
Jose looked forward to the “Knight” workouts with increasing anticipation as the weeks elapsed. James personally designed physical tests in unusual and scenic locations like the 182- step statue in the heart of the forest preserve overlooking the river. The boys raced up and down the grueling ladder of steps three consecutive times, draining all their energy, their calf muscles revolted with spasms, and they dropped to the earth soaked in sweat and in the ecstasy of pain.
Pushed to achieve new heights, the boys turned to supplements to combat their fatigue. James offered Jose a purple tub of pre-workout powder that he used himself. Jose worried about using supplements and conducted internet research, concluding that the legal substances would foster better performance and were safe to ingest. Besides, James and the other guys carried their loaded shaker bottles with them to every workout, it was the norm.
When summer came around, Jose was treated to a trip to the lake, courtesy of the warrior pack and Coach Razor. Jose wobbled from the cabin to the pier, like a drunken sailor, but totally sober. An intense migraine formed and his equilibrium was compromised. Blinding sunlight allowed all the boys to play the male version of dress up, the main accessory being the choice of sunglasses. Black and gold Oakley’s rested on Jose’s head and he expressed a bit of individuality by altering the stem color to a solid white, his own flair.
Lake Chippewa’s waters were calm and inviting. A day of fishing, swimming, and bonding lay ahead for Coach Razor and the tight knit group. Competitive as always, Dave Bowers suggested a two man canoe race and all agreed instantly.
Jose and Coach Razor sat together at the starting line, Dave and James on their left, and Scott and Dan to the right. In red mesh UW shorts and a lifting shirt, Razor was a few intense workouts, and a couple of dinner table push-backs from being able to line up and play again. Short red hair and red stubble over a face that badly needed shaving, his physical presence matched his intimidating personality.
An endurance race, five miles, down to the opposite shore, around Devil’s Island, and back to the dock would determine the winner. The winner’s prize, a complete grilled steak and potatoes meal prepared by the losers, and an entire day of replacing empty cups of water and soda, a friendly wager. A spasm shot down Jose’s leg, similar to what he’d experienced at the end of “Knight” sessions, but they were coming more frequently and he had lost weight recently. Complaining his way out of the competition never entered his mind, gutting through pain was the only acceptable option. Coach Razor bellowed a husky “On your marks, get set, go,” and it was on.
Razor and Benvara clearly had more collective muscle than the others, but canoeing is a sport of synchronicity and teamwork, and Dave and James had fished, boated, and canoed together their entire lives. At the turn- around point, Coach and Jose trailed the high school pairs by over a mile and as they approached a small tributary yards before Devil’s Island, they were all alone.
Jose sat in the front position and the vessel suddenly turned sideways. Muscles cramping wildly he reached for his right calf, as though he had been shot. Throwing off the balance of the boat, Razor tried to correct it and overcompensated, tossing Jose over the side and into the lake. Razor tumbled over the back end and fought to get back to the surface as Jose’s contorting body became trapped underneath the canoe. Gasping for air, Razor clamped on to the side of the boat and braced himself in a secure position, unaware that Jose was seconds from death. The boy wasn’t anywhere in sight and Razor panicked. Immersing himself under water he located Jose, swam over to his sinking body and gathered him in his arms.
It took the man additional time to drag the boy sideways and above the water, and ultimately, it cost Jose his life. He swam with Jose under his grip, to a tiny island 50 yards away, and with every second Jose’s death became more certain. Stephen Razor frantically alternated between administering CPR to Jose and screaming at the top of his lungs for help. After 10 minutes of futility, he loaded Jose’s body into the canoe and brought him back to dry land.
Back at the pier, the boys splashed each other innocently, dunking one another, until they realized what had occurred. Jose’s body stretched across the structure, his head rested on Razor’s lap as the coach instructed Dave to call the police immediately, as he tried to figure out how to call the Benvara’s and explain what he couldn’t understand himself.
Chapter 9
August 1, 1998. Jose died that day and Bruno never saw the world the same again. Lost were the innocent days of idolizing big brother, waiting for him to come home and motion to Bruno that fishing time was on. Bruno would arrange all the gear in order, taking great care with Jose’s favorite lures. A red and white Daredevil was placed in the right hand top row slot, ready for use at all times. Jose cast across the river effortlessly; he was a natural at anything manly. It didn’t matter if they slayed the fish or came home empty handed, they came home side by side, brothers.
He missed the little things most, like the mixture of Polo Double Black and Axe Body Wash emanating from inside the room they shared before their mother took her position with the firm. Money wasn’t abundant at that time, but love was. Bruno saw his brother in the massive set of veins pulsating from his own sculpted arms. This was Jose, this was his brother, and he was dead.
Bruno and his mom, Angie, dedicated one day, each year to formally honor Jose. A wreath of yellow and black flowers forcefully displaying the colors of Jose’s treasured team, the Pittsburgh Steelers decorated the young man’s grave. Surrounded by Packer fans, Jose stubbornly allied himself with a team four states away. Before the wreath could be respectfully laid, Bruno and Angie played Jose’s song of choice, Even Flow, by Pearl Jam. Bruno loathed the band, refused to listen to anything with that Seattle grunge sound, a form of protest. Irrational but comforting, distancing himself from the music was one way to regain control and to avoid pain.
Watching Jose on the football field was witnessing a true phenom performing his craft at a level not comprehensible or accessible to the average. Striding like a quarter horse, with strength, grace, and elegance, the elder Benvara brother had a following as early as his eighth grade season. It wasn’t as much that he could run up stunning numbers; the draw was the Gale Sayers’ fashion of dancing and gliding across the green grass with such ease. Whereas other standout running backs mercilessly pounded and abused the opposition, or simply sprinted to the perimeter on sweeps and jets, Jose floated, fluid but with purpose. One local writer pronounced him the next Marcus Allen of the Midwest, an appellation Jose politely and humbly rejected. As a staunch Steelers fan, he would have preferred a Franco Harris reference, but that would’ve missed the mark.
When he reached high school he was immediately elevated to varsity, the first and only player with talent to warrant such promotion. Certainly not frail, yet a boy in a world of animals seeking to maim him, Jose emerged as the starting right tailback in Germantown’s powerful flex bone triple option attack in 1997. Surrounded by loads of skill in the backfield, particularly QB Jeff Hodges, along with the strongest offensive line in decades, Jose was the breakaway threat, the missing puzzle piece that could ensure the sleepy town its first state title.
The past two seasons held promise early, only to fizzle into heart-breaking late-playoff losses; as heartbreaking as a 30-point beatings can be. Archer Valley had delivered the monumental embarrassment last year in the semi-finals, and revenge was on the minds of the Germantown faithful as the 1997 season began. Nothing short of a trip to state, topped with the hoisting of the trophy, would suffice, and Razor was constantly reminded of it.
Coach Razor had been given the ultimatum along with his teaching position and reigns to the football program. Win the title or find work elsewhere. That was the fuel behind the controversial decision to start a freshman at the varsity level. A 15-year-old boy, a Latin one at that, would cause a townies’ son lose their starting slot. A dark skinned stud replaced the all-American lunch bucket, James Morehouse. A solid athlete who rarely missed workouts but lacked star power, a core stock that promised no huge dividend, James Morehouse was expendable. It was an all-or-nothing decision that would propel Razor to instant legend and assure his place at the top of this football utopia, or cost him his job.
Start James Morehouse on all special teams, and as a speller for both halfbacks in the rotation. At minimum, that would guarantee the senior playing time. Apparently, that solution was not acceptable to James’s temperamental father. The morning before the big game, Allen Morehouse stormed into Razor’s office, “I wore the black and gold 20 years before your drunk ass got here, and you give my kid’s position to some wetback? I’ll have your job, bet on that.” The stumpy man practically fell out of the door, pointing a threatening finger at Razor.
Undefeated, ranked number four in Class 5A, and more importantly seeded first in their quadrant, the 1997 Germantown Knights marched into the playoffs with the momentum of a runaway train. Home games assured for at least two of the initial three rounds, anticipation of a third consecutive semi-final showdown turned into inevitability.
Who would be waiting for them, with a trip to Madison at stake? The Archer Valley Raiders, of course. Each team decimated their respective opponents on way to the “real state championship,” as it was referred to by everyone in the Northern half of the state. Truth told, the two schools fighting for the other championship birth paled in comparison to the hurricanes blowing southward. An icy cold late-November Saturday up north changed the lives and fates of players, coaches, fans, and families. Some realized it that day, some played out the statement decades later, but Coach Razor and Bruno Benvara were chief among those who felt the long term effects.
The day was a study in contrasts. Archer Valley resembled the fast paced Florida Gator spread option attack, plug full of flash and dash, right down to their $100-a-pair silver and white gloves that every coach and player fidgeted with constantly. Why on earth would a coach or manager wear those gloves, wondered all the loggers from Germantown? In fact, one could practically distinguish the fan base by looking at the parking lot. For every Lexus, BMW, or Cadillac that pulled into view, a pickup truck or Jeep displaying Knight black and gold rushed competitively to the nearest row. Not that Germantown didn’t have a few elitists, but they were the exception; the Holztmans and the Donovans rubbed elbows at the country club, and were tolerated on game day because they signed the paychecks of fathers and uncles of the boys on the field, but they couldn’t be found at Fuzzy’s tap after the game with the beer drinking flannel crowd. Both sets of fans piled on thick layers of team apparel today, racing to claim open spots as the scoreboard closed down to game time.
The tone was set early as two Knight gunners collided simultaneously with the Raider return specialist on the opening kickoff, all three bodies momentarily splayed on the grass. Hitting was definitely going to be the order of the day.
Archer Valley, suited in white jerseys with black trim and silver helmets, confidently embarked on their inaugural march from their own 26-yard line. March wasn’t the correct term, it was more like a flash, as a wheel route to the slot receiver caught the corner biting up, allowing the deep threat to stretch easily and waltz into the end zone for six sudden points. There would be more to come.
After trading downs for the following quarter and a half, Archer Valley threatened again. The beneficiary of a rare mistake by a Knight defensive end on a reverse, the potent offense positioned themselves on the right hash mark at the 13-yard line. After two incomplete fade routes to the corner of left end zone enough time remained for one last play.
Scouting perfectly, the defense anticipated the tight end middle screen right on cue. Shadowing the tight end release down the line of scrimmage the Knight defensive end, Sam Liponsky, a 6’3 205-pound farm boy, whose robotic movement and lack of athleticism kept his coaches up at night, slipped between the QB and the intended target, causing the mishap. As the defensive line pursued the backpedaling signal caller like rabid dogs, an unexpected burst of speed from the nose guard forced a premature weak throw. Leaping, a tornado of destruction, Bruce Nodden reeled the tipped ball in and jetted 90 yards to even the score at 7-7.
Lightning struck twice in the second half. Bottled up and frustrated the initial 24 minutes, Jose exploded on a 76-yard counter and a halfback seam pass thrown deftly over the linebacker and underneath the strong safety. The Raider air show lacked consistency and with every gust of wind and incompleted pass the Knight faithful inched achingly close to the state championship berth.
“It’s going to happen baby, were going to state,” Jack slapped Coach Nevins on the back.
“Not yet dammit, nobody smiles or celebrates. We’ve got three minutes left in this one,” slammed Coach Razor, though the jubilance in his eyes said something else.
“Have it your way, boss, I’m going to Madison with these kick-ass Knights!” Several offensive players overheard Coach Sheppard, and all the stern looks and admonitions from the head man couldn’t hold back the tidal wave of celebration. Finally, after decades of mediocrity and the past two years of sniffing greatness only to have it rudely pulled away, Coach Razor and staff had fulfilled the dream and promise. Germantown was ablaze, with the exception of one man.
Allen Morehouse returned, stalking Coach Razor, and cornered him as he turned to leave the locker room. Dwarfing the businessman, intimidated by no one, Razor scowled as he stared directly into Morehouse’s eyes. “What the hell do you want?”
“You’d better live it up this year, pal,” poking the chest of the coach. “I won’t watch another season of that dirty brownie claiming all the headlines while the kids who have paid their dues stand on the sidelines,” Morehouse grunted.
Hiking his pants up, the father continued, “You may know a few things about football, but don’t underestimate me. No punk out-of-town coach and his Mexican gang banger sidekick are going to disgrace this great town. You ain’t been here long enough to know how it works, but your lessons are starting soon.” Morehouse skulked away.
So much for the perfect day Coach Razor thought as he put his all red Wisconsin Badger football hat on his head. “Wow, this coaching thing is a ride,” he thought.
A week later the Knights of Germantown stormed into the championship and routed Harrisburg 52-7 to claim their first state title. The local newspaper read, “Freshmen Phenom Propels Germantown: A Knight to Remember,” accompanied by a picture or Coach Razor and Jose Benvara side by side hoisting the trophy for all to see. That image burned into the mind of Allen Morehouse.
Chapter 11
“Just tell me, are you coming to the game Friday night?” Eric asked with little emotion.
Her bloodshot eyes barely opened, she replied, “I’m not sure, I’ll try, but I gotta work later that night at the bar. Isn’t it just a meet the team thing anyway, you’re not even playing another team are ya, eh?”
“You know what, forget about it. I don’t want you to have to miss another chance to get wasted,” Eric sneered. Disappointment had turned into bitterness many years ago when it all changed. In his mind he thought football might reestablish a relationship with his mother that transcended wearing out the same paths in the carpet.
“Smartass, always mouthy, aren’t ya? I don’t see you bringing home any money, paying for the heat, the cable, the gas. Besides, you’ve hated those guys for a long time, so why a sudden interest now?” Motherly touch was not her forte, but Eric wasn’t asking for what Sheila or half the other kids at school got from their parents, just some recognition and support.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve changed, but so have you mom,” Eric spat.
Grabbing an Old Style from the fridge she glared at him and walked away. Walking away was a habit she’d been perfecting, attributing the increase in skill to having seen it happen so vividly with her husband. Eric rarely put up any resistance, their mutual existence relied on silence and a lack of expectation, but as he looked out the window he saw the world from a better place, before Scott had died.
It happened so quickly they all denied its validity. A family of hunters, all four of the Gieger clan eagerly heaped layers of warmth on, prepping for a long day in their makeshift deer stand. The hollowed out insides of a school bus buried in a holler was as much of a family dinner table to the once nuclear group as what resides in the best of homes painted in a Norman Rockwell. Fitting their physical natures and a love for the wild, nobody complained in earnest about sub zero temps, if the promise for a deer and a good story were in the air. On January 10, 2005, Scott Gieger became the central character in a tale nobody in the family talked about or dealt with.
Huddled around the fire, smack dab in the middle of the massive shell, they warmed their extremities as they watched alertly for movement. Accomplished hunters, Eric and his father, Jake, taught Scott all about the necessity of proper gun safety. Many hours of tutelage preceded Scott’s initial trip and he was conscientious in nature, always cleaning and checking the weapons, obsessed with perfect working order. Eric knew it wouldn’t be long before Scott overtook him in accuracy, it was evident in the quick learning curve, but he never saw that day.
Accidents happen. As a nine point buck gingerly pranced into sight, Eric took the lead position, surveying the situation calmly. A glance to the tree tops verified that wind was no issue. He continued to study the animal, making sure he could execute the kill shot, wanting to show respect for his prey. At 100 yards, and on a gentle upward slope, the buck was in range for a tricky shot, but one Eric braced for. Squinting into the scope, Eric continued to breathe evenly, as the trigger popped. Eric turned his head to the left and winked arrogantly at his younger brother, the deer fell to the earth. Pats on the back and a series of attaboys sent the hunting party out of their hiding spot and to the animal.
Traveling up the slope, Scott took the trail position, envious and proud of his brother. Within 30 yards of the fresh carcass a tree stump, covered and unseen, snared the left ankle of the boy and he placed his hands out instinctively, trying to soften the fall. The rifle, half the length of the boy, struck the ground first, the butt forcefully crashing into the hardened stump. In one second the Gieger’s lives went from bliss to hell. Kathy pounced on her son, desperately searching for the wound’s entrance, blood pouring out of his chest. Ripping the fabric away, she cradled him like a baby, screaming at Jake to do something, anything, as Eric stood transfixed in horror. Scott bled out in minutes, a blessing of sorts, avoiding unwarranted agony. Children aren’t supposed to be buried by their parents, but Scott Gieger was gone at the tender age of eight.
The tragedy precipitated the move to Germantown. Eric loved the UP, the miles of natural splendor, prime area for a young boy to explore and dream. Michigan was home. Germantown might as well have been in California for all he cared, but the decision wasn’t his. At age 11, Eric Gieger reluctantly became part of the Black Knight nation.
Eric thought about Dante’s levels of hell, unsuccessfully pinpointing exactly where this cruelty fit. Hearing the childish pounding of the stairs, his mother retreating from their heated exchange, he felt pity for her and his father. One part of him yearned to tear into his mother for her inability to move on, but a maturity beyond his age tempered that desire, and he accepted the role of adult for her. Dollar store artwork covered large spots where mounted trophies once hung. He could match every odd piece to the animal whose head once graced the spot. Only he and his mother could perform that feat, and Eric wondered how many hunting seasons had passed since she had.
Selfishly, Eric returned to a point his mother had made in their debate. Why am I so bent on playing ball with these jerks? For three years he’d openly despised them and they showed their disdain for him primarily with cold shoulders. If the testing day had taught him anything beyond that persistence pays off, it was that bridges burned, aren’t easily reconstructed. He thought about that during his run, turning it over from all angles, and his grand thesis became: this is for me, I love football, and this is for me. Perfectionists never settle, and by the first crank of the rusty hot water handle in the dingy shower, Eric was hard at work, editing and revising his thesis.
Continued….
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Seasons of Change, Book 1
by Scott Rempfer
Like “Friday Nights Lights”? Then we think you’ll like our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Scott Rempfer’s Thriller SEASONS OF CHANGE, BOOK 1 – Amazon Readers Have Rated This A 4.9 With All Rave Reviews – Just $2.99 or FREE via Kindle Lending Library!
Seasons of Change, Book 1 (Germantown Series)
Trapped between crushing verbal abuse from his head coach and loving encouragement from his assistant coach, Eric must choose between forgiveness and sobriety or revenge and loss. What he doesn't know is that the very man who continuously doubts and hurts him, actually needs him on and off the field.
What Readers Are Saying
Take a dose from a Dean Koontz's psycho-thriller and a heaping of Friday Night Lights and you have Scott Rempfer's SEASONS OF CHANGE. Rempfer weaves an insightful action-packed tale of the trouble and triumph, weakness and strength, darkness and light within the human spirit. You won't be disappointed with this read. I highly recommend it.
- Phil Truman, Author of GAME: AN AMERICAN NOVEL
Seasons of Change is informative and concise in regards to Highschool football and its fan base. Small town or city highschool no matter, Seasons of Change captures and holds the imagination and hearts of everyone who was ever involved with this great sport. As the book and author point out so well highschool sports are more than the event itself, it is the particpation in a sports where there are life lessons and character building learned and earned. The book itself was written well with detail to intricacies of the game of football and those involved from the coaches to players, classmates, and parents. As a past football player and classmate, Seasons of Change allowed me to revisit a time that meant a great deal to me. I would highly recommend this book.
-Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars
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Like “Friday Nights Lights”? Then we think you’ll like our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Scott Rempfer’s Thriller SEASONS OF CHANGE, BOOK 1 – Amazon Readers Have Rated This A 4.9 With All Rave Reviews – Just $2.99 or FREE via Kindle Lending Library!
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“Debut novelist Andy Holloman speeds us on a journey with punch, twist, and emotional dilemmas straight from our worst fears. Shades of Gray is a colorful, rollicking ride from start to finish.”
In the Fall of 2001, John Manning’s life is in turmoil. His six-year-old daughter Lucy needs a kidney transplant, and his travel agency is in financial distress because of the 9/11 tragedy. A lapse in his health insurance means he also has to quickly secure funds for his daughter’s operation.
Wanda, a client of John’s travel agency, is facing similar financial difficulties. Her livelihood as a drug dealer has also been hit hard by increased airport security. As a single parent, she wants to leave her dangerous profession and break free from her drug-lord boss Jamel, but a lack of funds has curtailed attempts to start a new life with her daughter.
Desperate times lead to desperate measures and John and Wanda form a partnership to smuggle cocaine via cruise ships. How far should a father go to save his child? Can a man and woman from completely different worlds help each other? Could they fall in love? And who will live to see the summer of 2002?
Reader Comments
Shades of Gray is a strikingly original and deeply moving story with an astonishing twist at the end. Andy Holloman renders brilliantly the tale of John Manning, a loving father and a reputable business man, whose incursion in the drug world fundamentally changes his life. Holloman makes his debut as a novelist by taking both his characters and readers on a journey where they equally experience tenderness, frustration, pain and truth. A raw, honest and captivating book that would make a great script for a movie!
– Anca Dumitru, Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars
Super-Thriller! Loved the surprise ending! Loved the father-daughter relationship! What particularly impressed me was the appeal to the senses. You can FEEL Holloman’s writing.
– Elaine Diamondidis, Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
I – March 24, 2002
He reserved his Sunday nights for the most important person in his life—his six-year-old daughter Lucy. These nights were referred to as the Sabbath and he always observed. On more than one occasion, he had mentioned his Sunday night dinners with Lucy were the source of good luck for the upcoming week. Tonight, however, would end any further mention of the delight he took in these evenings. Lucy had always chosen the location for their dates, and, the familiar ching-ching-ching-ching rattle of dollar bills being exchanged for golden tokens falling from the change dispensers rang in John’s ears. The clanging of bells from the game machines and the flashing lights reminded him of Las Vegas. They were, however, quite far from Sin City as they slipped into a booth at the Chuckie Cheese in Raleigh, North Carolina. Parents hurried past them, chasing small children. Older children stuffed chains of small white tickets into the counting machine so they could collect a prize worth ten cents after spending ten dollars to collect the tickets from games of skill like pinball, skeeball, whack-a-mole, and pop-a-shot. No doubt casino owners the world over would sell their soul for similar odds. She reached across the table and pulled on his sleeve. “Daddy? Are you thinking about what kind of pizza to get?” He sighed. “I’m not thinking about anything except how perfect a little girl you are. You pick the pizza tonight.” “Well I want a pizza with double cheese and nothing else on it like that gross stuff that you like.” She smiled and studied the menu. As if she would order anything else.He removed his glasses and pushed his thinning blonde hair back from his eyes. He wiped the lens clean with his tie. “Daddy, Nana told me that I should help you watch what you eat so you don’t get any fatter.” “Hmmm, so my mom told you that?” “Yes, but she said it was for your own good and that when I told you this, you would understand. She told me that you used to be a skinnier and that wherever you went, pretty ladies would always smile at you.” “Seems like I better have a little chat with your Nana. She needs to understand that I’ve been working hard to be a good dad and take care of my business and that maybe it is OK to let other things slip a little.” “I will tell her Daddy. You don’t have to worry. But she did say that now you look more like you are sixty instead of forty-four.” “Wow! Now I know that I need to talk to my mom.” “Daddy, you don’t …’ “It’s OK sweetie, your nana is just looking out for me. I know she just wants me to take care of myself so I can take care of you.” She looked up at him from the menu, dark eyes twinkling. “Daddy, when are we going on another big boat trip? You remember how you said that we could go again and Wanda and Tonya could go with us? When can we go again?” He shook his head, leaned forward and took her small hand in his. “Sweetie, you’ve been asking me the same question three times a day since Wanda and I got back from the last one a few weeks ago. I’m not sure if we are going to go again right away.” “I just have to wait and see if it’s necessary to go again, sweetie. Wanda and I got a lot of work done on the last trip, so we probably won’t go again.” She pulled her hand away and sat back against the seat, turned her head to the side and crossed her arms. “You said I could go again, Daddy! Remember, you did! It’s not fair.” “What’s not fair, Lucy?” “You and Wanda didn’t even take me and Tonya last time.” “Look, I know how much you like Tonya but you don’t have to be on a cruise ship to have fun playing with her. We can meet her at a park, or McDonald’s or some other place to play.” He watched her uncross her arms and put her hands back on the table. She didn’t reach for his hand. She spoke without looking up. “Daddy, umm, do you think that you could marry Wanda?” He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling, smiling. “If you and Wanda got married then I could have a mommy and Tonya would be my sister.” She gave him a pleading smile. John was used to the question. He called it the “mommy test.” It was not a difficult test to pass. Lucy’s only requirements were: She had to like the potential mommy and the candidate had to be female. “Well honey, I’ve explained this to you already. Wanda and I are just friends and we just work together. We’re not interested in getting married.” John watched her absorb his response. She frowned and looked down at the menu. “Is it, umm, it is because she’s a, a…. nigger?” she whispered. He winced as if punched. “What, what did you just say?” She tucked her chin against her chest, “I’m sorry Daddy.” “Lucy, sweetie, please don’t ever let me hear you say that word again.” He leaned forward and took her hands in his, pulling her toward him. “You know calling someone that is very bad. I don’t care what color Wanda and Tonya are and you know that.” John took a deep breath. Lucy pulled her hands free, “Did you hear Uncle Travis use that word again?” “I’m sorry Daddy.” “Answer me please Lucy.” “Umm, yes, Daddy. I heard Uncle Travis say that word when I was at his house watching movies.” She didn’t look up. “Tell me what happened. You’re not going to get in trouble.” “I was scared Daddy. Uncle Travis was really mad. He was yelling at somebody and he kept calling them a … you know, the bad word.” Her shoulders quivered. He wiped a tear off her cheek. “I know, I know. I can see you were scared. But was someone else at Uncle Travis’ house while you were there?” “No.” “But you said that he was yelling at someone.” “He was yelling on the … telephone.” “So he was talking on the phone and you heard him yelling and saying the bad word, right?” “Yes.” She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “He was on the back porch. I wasn’t trying to listen, Daddy. You know how you told me that sometimes when people talk on the phone that it has to be for privacy and I’m not supposed to listen. But Uncle Travis left the window open. I wasn’t trying to listen but he was yelling and it was scary.” He marveled at her intelligence. She always knew what was happening around her and there were always questions. “I see. But you understand that just because Uncle Travis says bad words doesn’t mean that you should, right?” “I know, I know, Daddy.” He reached over and dabbed her eyes with a paper napkin. “Daddy, does Uncle Travis yell at people and fight with them all the time because he is a policeman? Just like the policeman fighting shows you like to watch?” “No, honey. Those are just police shows. I’m sure Uncle Travis has to yell at people sometimes, but policeman have pretty boring jobs. They don’t spend all their time fighting and driving their cars fast to catch the bad guys, like they do on TV.” She nodded. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “So can Wanda be my Mommy?” She tugged at a pink ribbon that was barely clinging to her long black curls. He was always careful to prepare her unruly hair as best he could each morning, but most ribbons or clips rarely survived an entire day. “Oh, Lucy, my little sweetie. I know how much you want to have a mommy. I want you to have one too, but it has to be the right person for both of us. You can’t just pick out people that you like and choose them to be your mommy.” An overweight teenage waitress interrupted their conversation. John ordered a large pizza with double cheese. “Don’t forget to get me a Sprite, Daddy. You said I could have a Sprite for a treat, no milk.” John smiled at the waitress and she noted the order on her pad. “But why can’t I decide who I want for my Mommy? It’s just not fair that everyone else has a Mommy but me. I want Wanda for my Mom and Tonya for my sister!” She poked her lip out in a pout. “I understand, baby. I want you to have a mommy also, but it has to be someone that I want to marry. There is someone out there for both of us and we will find her some day. I promise you that I will keep an eye out for the perfect person for both of us.” He patted her hand. They continued to talk about other issues. None was as grave as finding a new mommy, but important issues nonetheless. She answered questions about school, told stories about playing with friends in the neighborhood, and detailed who was being nice and who was being mean. All of these things were quite wonderful items to discuss as far as John was concerned. He watched her as she spoke. She brushed her hair back so that the curls framed her perfect, round face. Her brown, almond shaped eyes were accented by her smooth white skin. He felt that warm glow in his soul that only she could deliver. Lucy radiated a joy and innocence that John could become lost in, making the other troubled parts of his life fade away. She was his whole world and his love for her sometimes left him petrified with fear that he could lose her, especially with her recent health problems and the corrective surgery approaching. Several times a week, he would lie in bed with her while she fell asleep. Then, after she had dozed off, he would move close to her face and breathe in as she exhaled. When he was that close to her, breathing her breath, his body relaxed, and anxious thoughts faded away. Her sweet, warm breath filled the lonely spaces deep within his soul. * * * After dinner, a light rain fell as they walked across the parking lot. He wished now that he had not traded cars with Wanda. Her 30-year-old Mustang convertible had a leak in the roof. Wanda had expressed so much interest in his new minivan that he had offered to switch cars for a day When they were within a few miles of their home, the light rain became a severe thunderstorm, and John searched for the switch to adjust the wipers to a faster setting. He noticed that the car was handling strangely. The steering was out of alignment and he drifted right onto the shoulder. He jerked the car back onto the road. She sang “I’m a Little Teapot,” softly and he watched her in the rearview mirror as she performed the hand movements that went along with the lyrics. “Daddy, I smell something stinky?” “What does it smell like, sweetie? ” He leaned closer to the steering wheel, wiping the window with his shirt sleeve to remove the condensation. “It smells like the gas, like when you stop at the station to put gas in the car.” As they entered a sharp right curve he turned the steering wheel. There was no response. “Oh God, what the hell …” “Daddy, you said a bad w- …” He punched the brake with both feet as the car headed onto the far shoulder. No brakes. The car kept its forty-mile-per-hour pace and slid off the road and down a steep embankment. Sounds mixed together—small trees snapping, glass breaking, metal bending, and Lucy’s screams. He turned and reached back for her, but the car slammed him forward. He covered his face to cushion the blow as the car spun sideways and hit a large, old oak tree, which shuddered as it took the weight of the impact. “OUCH! AWWWW!!!” She screamed out. “Daddy help me! Help! I got cut by something and there’s a branch scratching me. It hurts Daddy, it’s hurting me! Daddy help me!”* * * Her voice came back as water dripped in his face. He had fallen forward and his head was trapped between the smashed driver’s side door and the steering wheel.“Daddy, I’m hurt! Wake up! Wake up, Daddy … please … wake up!” He couldn’t remember what had happened, swimming in the fog of unconsciousness. “Daddy, Daddy, please help me. I’m bleeding. Something cut me. The blood is all over me. Daddy, it hurts. It hurts real bad Daddy.” His body tensed as fire-hot pain shot through his leg. He tried to speak but the words would not form. “Oh my God! Oh God!! Lucy, Lucy.” He slid his right hand across his lap and felt a warm stickiness and the jagged edge of bone protruding through his torn pants leg. The pain ripped and burned through his entire body. Her voice woke him, softer this time. Pain clouded his thinking. How much time had passed? “Daddy, Daddy, wake up.” She whimpered. “I’m hurt, wake up. Daddy, I’m bleeding. Daddy, I’m scared. Daddy, Daddy, please wake up. Please. I’m scared.” He tried to form words, but nothing came out. Everything blurred. What had happened? Lucy? My Lucy, she’s hurt. I’m here sweetie. Daddy’s coming. I’m going to get you out of here. The haze and fog would not clear The pain came over him in huge waves and washed him back under. He regained consciousness. A whisper in the dark. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m cold. I’m still bleeding Daddy. Daddy, wake up. Please wake up Daddy.” I’m coming my Lucy, I’m coming. Hold on, your Daddy’s gonna come and save you. I promise. Tears flowed down his face. He could not turn around to see his precious Lucy. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t comfort her. He could only listen to her faint cries. The rain stopped. A full moon appeared and cast a pale light through the oak tree’s branches and into the car. Hold on sweetie. Daddy’s going to get up and get you out of here. You just sit tight now my little sweetie. Don’t be scared. I’m gonna save you my precious. John Manning fell back into unconsciousness, and Lucy’s soft cries ceased.
II – August 1975
In the sticky, humid heat of an August afternoon in Durham, North Carolina, a small girl played with a group of five friends on a barren playground. The swings were all broken, the chains having been removed years ago, destined for activities that would never be considered childlike. The only piece of equipment on the playground that had any practical use was the monkey bars. It was so badly rusted that shards of brown metal would come off on the children’s hands. Occasionally, someone would get a cut or a piece of metal would lodge in one of the small hands, but this was never a deterrent. The playground was a paradise for the neighborhood children. An oasis where they could meet friends, swap stories, play tag, and avoid the hazards of their broken homes. A mother walked across the street toward the playground. “Hey! Hey, Wanda!” screamed the mother. “Get your ass over here now! I’ve called you ten times already! Are you deaf?” All of the childlike joy of play evaporated in that instant. Smiling, happy faces turned into scared, sad faces in the milliseconds that it took for those words to travel from the speaker’s mouth to the children’s ears. They all looked at the ground and then at the girl who belonged to the mother. She stood and gave a timid, frightened wave to the others. She walked toward the mother. “Are you gonna answer me? I can’t wait to get you back to the house and tear your ass up for not coming when I call you. This has got to stop, you hear?” said the Mother. The timid girl whispered “OK, Mama, I’m sorry.” “Shut up and don’t say anything. I’m too pissed off to listen to your bullshit right now,” she growled. The girl and the mother walked away from the playground, across the street, and around the corner to their home. Often the girl wished the playground was further from the house, maybe closer to the her other refuge: the elementary school. The mother took the two cinder block steps up to the porch that was just large enough to hold two rusted card table chairs and a dirt-stained love seat. The sofa’s stuffing material remained in some places. It still served its purpose whenever someone found a board to cover the rusted springs. The small girl followed, but at a greater distance than when the two had left the playground. Dread and fear covered her body like the worn out blanket on which she slept. She slithered up the steps as her mother was going through the door. Inside the front door, the living room held a tan couch with a green blanket strewn across it in an unsuccessful attempt to cover the many stains on the cushions. There was a nineteen-inch black-and-white TV opposite the couch. To the left was a small kitchen with dirty dishes piled in the sink as well as remnants of past meals still lying on the counter top. A white Formica table and two metal chairs stood against the wall opposite the sink. A short hallway, which began by the couch in the living room, led to the only bedroom. Mother and daughter shared this room, most of the time, and it had a small bathroom attached to it, with a mildewed shower, commode, and sink. There was a hole large enough to fit a basketball near the wall opposite the sink. “Get in here now. Don’t be dragging your ass behind me. I got to go to work and you got to eat. Go sit at the table. I’ve got some chicken and rice for you.” The girl sighed and slipped into her chair. She was hungry and because of this she let her guard down and reached for the bowl of food on the table instead of keeping her eye on her mother. As she picked up the spoon in the bowl, the back of her mother’s hand flew toward the small girl’s head and connected with tremendous force, just below her left ear. The girl fell to the floor screaming, holding her ear and trembling. “This is the last time you’re ever going to go to that playground! Are you listening to me? I know you could hear me and I’m not going to put up with your shit no more! Do you understand?” The mother loomed over the girl, eyes bulging with anger. “Answer me right now or you’re going to get smacked on the other side of your head!” The girl’s face was wrenched in pain. Her lower lip quivered, her checks soaked with tears. “Y-y-yes, Mama. I’m sorry,” she whispered. Past experience taught her to show how sorry she was to minimize the possibility of further punishment. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” These words came out with a clarity that surprised her. It worked. The mother opened the oven and pulled out a pan of biscuits, dropping them with a bang onto the stovetop. “You better do exactly as you are saying right now, because if you don’t, I’ll give you something to cry about. Now get back up in your chair and shush up.” The girl wiped tears and snot from her face, watching the mother from the corner of her eye. She slipped onto the chair and sat on the corner with one leg still on the ground, in case of another attack. The mother placed two biscuits on a plate and shoved them onto the table. “Here, eat your dinner. Lock the door behind me ‘cause I’m leaving for work now. Get in bed by nine o’clock and don’t sleep on the couch, sleep in your bed.” “Yes, Mama. I will. I will.” It was better when Mama went to work. Wanda was glad to have these few hours to be alone and unafraid. While her other friends’ parents worked in restaurants, fixed cars, or simply stayed around the house, Wanda had no idea what her mother’s job was. She just knew that her mother worked at night and sometimes brought home a friend. Twice during the summer, Wanda had witnessed her mother’s return from work just before sunrise. Her mother didn’t work every night, just the nights when Wanda didn’t have to go to school the next day. Sometimes when she came home from work, she had trouble walking and she stumbled over the porch steps. Wanda preferred to sleep on the couch, which was further away from the bedroom and any guests. After her mother left, Wanda finished eating and locked the front door. She opened the only window in the room and walked back to the bedroom, returning with a square fan the same size as the TV, which she placed by the window. Next, she went to the kitchen and picked up one of the metal chairs, which she brought back and placed underneath the window. She plugged the fan in and set it up on the chair, adjusting it to point the stream of humid air toward the sofa. She turned on the television, ate two Oreo cookies that she had hidden between the cushions, and fell asleep as the Captain’s blue hat gave Gilligan his fourth swat of that evening’s episode. * * * At the end of the school year, Travis’ third grade class had been studying weather. He learned hurricanes were powerful storms and that North Carolina’s Outer Banks were a frequent target. Though it was still early in the hurricane season, 1975 was shaping up to be a mild year for the big storms. Only Hurricane Amy, in late June, had threatened the North Carolina coast. Travis felt that being with his brother and his father was like watching an approaching hurricane. Each day they were together, the storm grew in intensity. He knew hurricanes had an eye in the middle, where it was calm and peaceful, and he hoped the eye would arrive soon. He loved the fishing trip that he, his brother and father took every August, and hoped it wouldn’t end badly, as some other trips had. It was early in the morning and they were thirty minutes from the marina. Cape Hatteras is the closest point on the East Coast to the Gulf Stream, which brings up warm water from the Gulf of Mexico and also abundant game fish, like marlin. Yesterday, John and Travis’ father had gotten into their loudest argument of the summer. John would be starting college in two weeks and Travis did not want to think about John’s leaving. He understood that John was his stepbrother, because they had different fathers, but John made Travis promise him last summer that they would never use any other word but brother to refer to each other. They were heading out to the Gulf Stream to catch marlins. Travis loved it when they went way out and tried for the big ones. The three of them had been deep sea fishing together at Hatteras since Travis was four. John and Travis’ father, Hank Hanson, had gone fishing together once before Travis was old enough join them, but it had not gone well. John and Hank argued most of the trip. Hank had purchased a fifty-foot Sea Ray the previous summer and all of them enjoyed the greater number of fishing trips. As much as John disliked his stepfather, he loved the boat. Travis also loved the boat, especially the soft bed in the lower cabin. He was tired and it was easy to catch a quick nap while they were heading out. The loud engine drowned out all the sounds around him and he fell asleep quickly. John always drove and, after another hour-and-a-half, he slowed the boat when they were close enough to their destination to begin setting out their lines. Travis awoke from his nap and watched his father climb the ladder to the upper deck where John was. Travis walked up the three steps, out of the cabin area, and stood under the deck, listening to them. Hank sat down on a small bench, opposite of the console where John was holding the ship’s wheel. “You know John, if I had talked to my father the same way you’ve been talking to me on this trip, he’d have kicked the shit out of me.” John continued to look out over the bow and the gently rolling swells. “Hank, if you weren’t such a stupid, bigoted fool, then maybe I wouldn’t have to talk to you like this. But if you’re saying that you think you should kick the shit out of me, then go ahead and give it your best shot.” Hank waved his hand in the air. “Now don’t go saying stuff like that. I ain’t going to do nothing of the sort. Why don’t you just let it rest for the day, John? You ain’t going to change me and I ain’t going to change you.” “I’m not worried about you or me, Hank. It’s that wonderful little nine-year-old boy sleeping down there that I worry about. Your attitudes, the way you talk about blacks, he doesn’t understand how wrong your old ways are. I can’t stand to see him picking up your habits.” “I just tell it like I see it, John. I know what I know. Like I said, you ain’t going to change me.” Hank took a sip from the beer he was holding. “There’s no need to bring up what happened with that little darkie boy at the marina if that’s where you’re heading with this.” “You’re goddamn right I am. That was the most insulting thing I’ve ever seen you do. You told that little boy that you didn’t want your son using the bathroom after a little ’nigger’ and you pushed Travis up ahead of him.” Hank leaned forward on the bench. “You don’t need to be worrying about Travis. I’m a good father and I know how to raise my boy. He knows what he sees in the world. Some people just ain’t the same as others and I didn’t make it that way. God did.” He paused and took a long sip of his beer. “I guess since you’re heading off to college, you think you’re a lot better than me. Maybe you think you know how to raise a kid. You don’t.”John turned and pointed his finger at Hank. “I know one thing Hank: Travis is a wonderful boy who loves his father, even if you are a prejudiced ass. You can bet I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he knows your ways are wrong. I’m not going to let him grow up with your attitudes.” Hank looked down at this beer and shook his head. John pulled the throttle back and the boat shifted into neutral.“I’m done with this. I’m going to starting rigging up the lines.” Travis scurried back into the cabin as John came down the short ladder from the top deck. * * * John wasn’t going to let Hank ruin this trip. It was a glorious August morning, with calm seas and a bright sun. Hank was right about one thing: John was never going to change him, no matter how much he argued with him. John would never understand why his mother chose to marry someone like Hank. She claimed to love him, that he provided well for all of them, and that down deep, he did have a good heart. John never saw it. He suspected his mother rarely did either. His mother once said loneliness and poverty force you to make compromises. John’s father had abandoned him and his mother when John was only a year old. Hank owned five auto repair shops in the Raleigh area. They had married when John was eight, and his mother no longer struggled to make ends meet. Travis arrived a year later and both John and his mother were elated to have a new family member. The three of them had fished hard for two days. John knew his conflicts with Hank would diminish if they concentrated more on the task at hand. This was the way it was, yelling and fighting at first, then getting down to business. On every trip, the amount of fish caught was inversely proportional to how much he fought with Hank. Their catch so far had been poor, but today was to be exceptional. They hauled in a dozen large fish and John reeled in the largest blue marlin any of them had ever caught. After the four-hour ordeal of landing the fish, he could not contain his delight. Even Hank was jumping up and down and whooping with excitement. The fish was twice as long as Travis, and Hank estimated it weighed three hundred pounds. After they had finished securing the fish to the side of the boat, Travis ran back to the cabin and grabbed a small camera. He took pictures while Hank held up John’s arm and pointed to his bicep. In the last picture he took, Hank had even thrown his arm over John’s shoulders. They were both covered with fish blood, seawater, and broad smiles. The drive home to Raleigh was filled with pride and laughter as the three of them revisited the success of their outing. John was already talking about coming home from college in a few weeks so they could take the boat out again. They left Hatteras around seven o’clock, and after the sun had gone down an hour later, John fell asleep in the back seat. “Son, you make sure that you get those pictures developed right away, and get some extra copies for us to give out. John really bagged us a good one.” “Are you going to show the pictures to the guys in the garage?” “Damn right! My guys are going to shit their drawers when they see the size of this marlin.” Travis looked out the window and then down at his hands. “Umm, Dad, uh, can I ask you something?” “Sure son, what’s on your mind?” Travis brushed a fish scale off the back of his hand. “Why do you and John fight about black people so much?” Hank smiled and glanced in the rear view mirror to see that John was still asleep. “Well Travis, it’s like this. See your brother is still young. He ain’t seen much of the world or the people in it. You understand?” “Yes sir.” “He just doesn’t know yet that people are different. See, I know them darkies ain’t the same as you and me. They just ain’t the same.” “But John said everyone is the same and it doesn’t matter what color their skin is.” “A lot of people say things like that, but they just don’t know. It’s just the way it is in this world. John would see the same things the same way too if he had grown up around them like I did. I started helping my Dad fix cars up when I was just about your age.” He flashed a smile at Travis. “He told me about how they ain’t the same as us. I worked with them when I got my first real job as a mechanic, when I was only fifteen. I saw that what my Dad said was right. Even hired a few when I opened my own shop, but don’t anymore. You just get a feeling for types of people and what they’re like after you’ve been around them some. You just need to listen to your Dad about these things. You’ll see too as you get older.” Hank turned and smiled at Travis. Travis was silent for a minute. “Remember you said I could start working in one of your shops next summer, right?” Hank reached over and patted him on the leg. “Now that’s my boy. You bet you can start next summer. Already been thinking about some good things you can do to learn your way around. I bet … oh shit.” Travis looked up and saw the flashing lights reflected in the windshield. “Goddamn cop is pulling me over.” Travis turned around in the seat and rose up on his knees to see the patrol car following them. Hank slowed the car down and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. “Son, reach over in the glove box there and get out the car registration. Goddamit, I sure don’t need another speeding ticket.” Travis handed his father the slip of paper from the glove box, and watched him as he opened his wallet and pulled out three $20 bills. He smiled at his son as he folded them into the car registration form. “Here’s you first lesson son in how the world really works. This little trick has bailed me out of a couple of problems in the past.” The highway patrolman walked to Hank’s window. All Travis could see was his enormous belly as it hung over his belt. He hiked his pants up and Hank rolled down the window. “Howdy officer. What’s wrong?” Hank’s voice was friendly, surprised. The patrolman shone his flashlight into Hank’s face and then moved the light to the back seat, pausing on John for a few seconds. “Let me see your driver’s license and registration please sir.” “You bet officer.” Hank took his wallet from the dashboard and removed his license. “Sir, I was following you for five miles and for that entire time, you’ve been traveling at least fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit.” Hank’s eyes opened wide, “Oh my god! Was I really going that fast? Damn officer, I’ve just been chatting with my boy here and I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention.” He handed the officer his license and the car registration. The policeman studied the license with his flashlight. “Well Mr. Hanson, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to write you up for speeding,” Travis saw the patrolman’s plump hands unfold the car registration, revealing the cash. He lifted his arm and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirtsleeve. The patrolman looked at Hank. Hank smiled, reassuringly. “Hold on for just a second Mr. Hanson. I’m going to have to call this one in on the radio.” The patrolman turned and walked back to his car. Travis turned to look back. “Just keep looking ahead son. He’s just going to take a look at the paper work I gave him. Then he’ll come back and tell us to be on our way.” Three minutes later, the patrolman returned to Hank’s window. “Mr. Hanson, I’ve decided to let you go with just a warning. But if I catch you speeding or doing anything else wrong around here again, you won’t be so lucky.” He handed the license and registration back to Hank, who in turn handed everything back to Travis. Travis returned the empty registration to the glove compartment. “That’s mighty nice of you sir. I was just telling my boy here how cops don’t get the respect they deserve. You guys do a great job for us law abiding citizens. I just wish you didn’t have to spend any time with us good folk so that you can spend more time chasing down the bad guys.” “That’s mighty nice of you Mr. Hanson. We can take care of the bad guys if all you good guys would just slow down a little. Looks like you got some precious cargo in that car with you. You wouldn’t want to have anything happen to that boy of yours because you’re driving too fast now would you?” “Good point officer. I’ll pay closer attention, you can bet that.” “Well good night Mr. Hanson. Drive safe now, you hear?” “Yes sir officer. You have a good night now.” Hank pulled out from the side of the road. He was smiling. He drove on as the police car caught up with and then passed them. A few minutes later, the tail lights had disappeared. “Now son, you got to understand what just happened here. I mean really understand. You’re old enough now to start learning about how things work.” “But Dad, I didn’t know that you could pay for your speeding ticket like that. You told me about one that you had to mail in some money to pay.” “I paid for the ticket, son, I just put the money into the hands of someone who needs the money a lot more. Cops don’t get paid for shit. I just did that cop a big favor. Why he’ll be able to buy his kids some new shoes or maybe something nice for his wife.” “You mean that when you pay for a speeding ticket, the cop always gets the money? “No, that’s not how it works.” “Is that what you did when you mailed in that money before? You just mailed it to the cop instead of handing it to him like tonight?” “Nah, son. That ain’t what you’re seeing here. Now, officially, that cop was supposed to give me a ticket for driving too fast. Then he turns that ticket in to a judge who sends me a letter saying that I’ve got to pay the money to the courthouse or I can come and see the judge and tell him why I think I shouldn’t have to pay. Only the judge don’t listen very well, so if you go to court, you just end up paying the money anyway. Plus I gotta take off a day from work, sit in this big courtroom until they call my name and then I’ve wasted almost a whole day. See, this way, instead of giving the money to the judge, I just give it to the cop. The cop decides to take the money and then he lets me go. The cop can go on and spend more time catching bank robbers, muggers, and niggers who are breaking into people’s houses. I mean bad guys, criminals. Then the poor, tired cop goes home with the cash and helps his family and I don’t give my money to the judge and my insurance don’t go up. Everybody comes out a winner.” Travis sat up on his knees and turned to look in the back seat. John was still asleep. “But Dad, it’s against the law, isn’t it? John told me about one time when you did this and he was in the car. He said you could go to jail for doing this since you were breaking the law.” Hank snorted and waved his hand toward the back seat. “Oh, that John! Listen my boy. He sees things the wrong way because he just don’t understand the world. He and you are just kids. To John, everything is either right or wrong. But that ain’t how things work out there in the world. You’re better off listening to your ole dad than listening to John. You gotta trust me on this son. I know it’s hard to understand, but in time you will. Right now, you just gotta trust me. You trust your old dad now don’t you Travis?” Travis turned to the window and stared out at the sky. It was a clear night and Travis noticed the number of stars he could see was greater than he could ever remember. He could see John’s reflection in his window. What would his brother add to this conversation? What would he say about his father’s opinions? It was best that John was sleeping. They would have just ended up shouting at each other again. Yeah, it was better that John was asleep. “Yeah Dad, I trust you.” Hank reached over and tousled Travis’ hair. “Now that’s my boy.” “Can we stop and get something to eat? I’m starving.” “Yes sir, my boy. I’ll stop and get you anything you want.”
Continued….
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Shades of Gray
by Andy Holloman
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Shades of Gray
In the Fall of 2001, John Manning's life is in turmoil. His six-year-old daughter Lucy needs a kidney transplant, and his travel agency is in financial distress because of the 9/11 tragedy. A lapse in his health insurance means he also has to quickly secure funds for his daughter's operation.
Wanda, a client of John's travel agency, is facing similar financial difficulties. Her livelihood as a drug dealer has also been hit hard by increased airport security. As a single parent, she wants to leave her dangerous profession and break free from her drug-lord boss Jamel, but a lack of funds has curtailed attempts to start a new life with her daughter.
Desperate times lead to desperate measures and John and Wanda form a partnership to smuggle cocaine via cruise ships. How far should a father go to save his child? Can a man and woman from completely different worlds help each other? Could they fall in love? And who will live to see the summer of 2002?
Writer Andy Holloman has been scribbling stories since a young age. (According to reliable sources.) "Shades of Gray" is his first published novel and grew out of his experiences as a travel agency owner many moons ago. He was fascinated with the true story of a client of the business that was murdered. Suspecting her line of work was drug smuggling, a story sprouted in his over-active imagination - How far would a desperate person go to save their child and their business.He is the father of three and happily married for 20 years. A graduate of UNC-CH, he lives in the Raleigh, NC area and is busy carpooling, keeping his wife happy, and attending his kids sporting events. He loves the great outdoors in NC, is an avid reader, and a social media goofball. Most evenings, he can be found tapping on his well-worn keyboard as he "births" his next novel.
www.AndyHolloman.com Twitter @AndyHolloman
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Like a great thriller? Then you’ll love our brand new Thriller of the Week: From Andy Holloman’s Mystery Thriller SHADES OF GRAY – 35 out 41 Rave Reviews and $4.99 and Currently FREE for Amazon Prime Members via Kindle Lending Library!