Resolution: A Rez Novel

By O.L. Colter

Geared for the reluctant reader, each book in the Rez series is a fast paced page turner. I waste as little language as possible and have specific length goals before my fingers even touch the key board. To that end, my books focus on key interests or topics and float right around the 300 page mark - or less. Some of those topics include firearms and associated tactics, vigilante justice and street crime, and are injected with cool cars, mystery, violence and action.
In Resolution, Rez takes on police corruption, dope slinging criminals and a mysterious crime involving a dead drug dealer found with a handwritten message across his chest. Colorful characters like Rez's sexy red-headed assistant, a grumpy gun smith friend and a task force detective help round out the series's light pulp fiction flavor. Rez isn't exactly a Social Security Card carrying member of society and doesn't exactly excel when it comes to solving problems diplomatically. With an arsenal of firepower and substantial funding at his disposal, Rez operates within the dark drug crime undergrounds to eradicate it where he can.

• Language: English
• Publisher: O.L. Colter
• Release date: Jun 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476247601

O.L. Colter

Writing for me grew out of my reluctance to read. I think there are a lot of reasons to not like reading, many more than my own at least. It's not that I didn't enjoy reading itself, I just didn't like any of the books. I also had family and friends who hated reading for lots of other reasons and so I had a circle of reluctant readers who I began to realize needed something to read. I discovered through those wonderful (or not) standardized tests we all suffer through as children, that I had above average reading comprehension. I went on the assumption that books simply weren't offering anything of interest to me and finding good reads was virtually impossible given the way they are organized in most libraries. I have always been creative and so I think the need to create is stronger than my desire to experience. Reading is an experience for a lot of people. It is a framework which they can use to stimulate their own imagination. My imagination however, is in a state of constant stimulation and it takes writing it down just to get it all out. And then there is one last piece to the puzzle. Time. Books are often just too long. Perhaps another reason I didn't like reading is that it takes too much time and often involves wading through descriptions of things, places, or ideas which my imagination is perfectly capable of filling in on its own. If readers are looking for an experience, it certainly isn't singular. What I mean is, we're all looking for something different, an experience just for us. No author can write for everyone, so I decided to write for only a few. The reluctant readers like me and the people I know who don't care for reading. I think I'm more visual. I love movies, and I love art. Books however, are not visual. But reluctant readers like me can see clearly through that thing called the mind's eye. My writing is short and to the point without any wasted language, or as little as I can manage. My goal is to leave enough of it to the reader's imagination that it doesn't cloud the vision seen in the mind's eye. I also focus on the interest. The interest is that experience, the trip you take while reading. It has to be real, but it has to be a fantasy. The reader can ask, what if I had this opportunity? I gloss over when a book gets something wrong. My typically sited example is "cocking the hammer on a Glock" which cannot be done. If reading something like that causes you to gloss over, you might enjoy my writing. If those core interests are done incorrectly in writing, the reader realizes that the author isn't writing for him or her, the author didn't take the time to make sure those details were covered. It's not wrong, it just happens. There are people who might read my writing and find themselves glossed over because of something I got wrong. But my personal interests are in cars, firearms and street crime and I try to get those aspects correct. I would love to know more about how special police task forces operate in regard to the grime they deal with, but I don't. As I learn more, my books will focus more on it because I require realism and that is one of those interests. I also don't care to water my writing down for all audiences. I want it to be a little rough and I want it to depict the things that actually go on. At the same time, I just don't get off on a constant bombardment of violence and despair and shock value language. I could go on and on, but you get the idea, and what reluctant reader is going to read all this! Maybe if you read my writing and then come here to learn more, you will get the impression that I am writing for you and yes, there will be more to come and I will always try to stay true.

Book preview

Chapter One

Detective Nobel Capucilli had finally gotten some sleep and was still enjoying it at 8:20 when his phone began its vibrating dance on his night stand. He picked up the phone without moving from the comfortable position he'd found and forced his eyes open enough to read the display. The number didn't register in his memory and there was no name attached, but he answered. Capucilli, he said.

Nobel, this is Francis Falck, the voice said.

Francis Falck, been awhile. How's the Franklin area treating you?

Just fine. I've managed to make detective.

I'd heard. Moving fast.

It's a good fit up here for me.

Nobel wasn’t interested in being awake, so pleasantries were certainly out of the question. Glad to hear it. What can I do for you?

Well, this is going to sound strange, because it is, but I've got a dead guy up here with your name written across his chest in marker. Found him last night in a dumpster.

Nobel preferred to pretend he hadn’t heard the first part and wake up from this dream sooner rather than later. Dumpster huh? he mumbled.

Falck was audibly trying to keep the conversation cordial, given Nobel’s absent enthusiasm. Yeah, new one right?

Nobel dug around for a shit to give. Who was he?

Green peddler in Franklin. From a nearby small town we think.

I don't know any druggies in Franklin. Or at least Nobel couldn’t think of any and wasn’t going to try to – on account of the lingering hope that this conversation was taking place in his subconscious.

Someone knows you.

Nobel let out a sigh, mostly out of annoyance. Alright, what've you got?

Nine-mil casings, no witness.

No witnesses, no-name, small-time drug dealer dead, so it wasn’t a dream. This story was the weekly reality. Meth right? Nobel said. Small town usually meant methamphetamine to Nobel. And you've got nothing. I'd just let it go, Nobel suggested, knowing how cases like that one usually turn out - dead end and nobody missing the dead guy.

Meth is dangerous. By some twisted lingering morsel of morality there are actually some safety conscious dealers who don't like it in the first place and consequently people end up dead just for having it on the menu. And, nine-millimeter casings? Nobel had to assume Falck had mentioned them to reinforce the complete lack of any real evidence, because that wasn’t any. Still, having his name physically written on a corpse did seem odd and required a look. Then again, it could have been anyone named Capucilli. Francis didn't say Nobel Capucilli.

Maybe you should just come up and take a look.

Right, I was just getting to that. Yeah, give me an hour. Where am I going? Nobel said lifting himself from the bed and throwing the sheets aside. He took a pen from the night-stand, listened to Detective Falck's directions and scribbled an address.

Chapter Two

Finally, at 10:30 Rez groggily plodded down the iron spiral stair case from his bedroom to the large landing below, .45 caliber 1911 pistol in hand. His bare feet drug across the hardwood floor, swishing quietly as he crossed the raised area at the foot of the spiral. He thumped down three steps and continued to his left down a short hallway that led him into his living room and from there to the kitchen. His place was tidy and apparently well-furnished, but mostly because he spent very little time in it awake, and his employer had maids and people who knew how tidy and well-furnished was supposed to look.

Rez wore only his boxers and tried to barely notice his sharply dressed duplex neighbor standing near the kitchen island. More than several times he'd told her to ditch the fancy clothes that she tended to wear for work. They made her look like a lawyer. Stuffy. Fashionable worked better around the yuppies, he'd said. So she'd changed to expensive jeans cut to perfection, turtleneck sweaters and cute jackets with shaggy trim – like that.

Today though, she must not have been able to help herself. She had on a pinstriped charcoal gray suit with a white, wide-collar blouse opened three buttons down. Swept back along her cheeks and lightly curled, her blondish red hair made a striking contrast. When picking the outfit she knew it would be just casual enough to keep Rez quiet, but no matter what, she wouldn't give up the high heels.

Rez shot a glance at her as he passed through. God, she made it hard for him to pay attention.

Coordinating perfectly, she held a paper cup that said over priced coffee by some other name, half covered by a thermal wrapper meant to protect delicate hands. The sort of hands attached to the sort of people who guzzled that sort of shit. Rez hated to guess what it might have cost.

Only when she'd finished skimming whichever portion of the paper she read every morning did she look up. It's twenty minutes to eleven, she stated as if he didn't know.

Good morning to you too Meg, Rez mumbled while clunking the 1911 onto the counter so that he might have both hands free to raid the fridge.

The pistol was a custom job but traditional as modern 1911s go, with blued steel, hand carved wood grips and a stainless barrel. It was a working gun so many standard improvements were performed from the trigger to the hammer and from the dovetailed sights to the extended thumb safety. Stiff leather had worn the finish completely away from all the corners and high spots but it was like an old pair of jeans – comfortable.

We have the thing with Capucilli today, Megan said.

Oh yeah, that would be the reason for the nice threads, Rez thought to himself. No. I have the thing with Capucilli today, he corrected, tipping a half-gallon of whole milk to his mouth. His voice was hollowed inside it.

No, she mimicked. It's a place uptown so for the sake of appearances I'll be driving. I've also picked out a suit for you. She pointed with her green eyes to the back of a chair.

Rez took one look over the milk container and said, Is that silk?

Yes.

Bit much don't you think?

She half smiled because she knew he purposely set himself up for exactly what she was thinking. For you, yes, she answered.

Fact is, Rez isn't really the fashion guru of the pair, but he likes to talk. At any rate, blending in is important for him and Megan was around to make sure it happened. Any number of any variety of eyes could be watching him for any number of reasons. Plus, the restaurant they were going to is out of the neighborhood, and while he was on the subject, Rez wondered what exactly made all the falderal necessary.

I've got everything ready, Megan said, dropping the news paper and picking up a thin file folder.

Mostly it contained a list of contacts made during Rez's investigation and some photos. Nothing else he did could be documented, but it was enough to point Nobel Capucilli down the right roads while saving him quite a bit of detective work.

Anything else? Rez asked, ready to hear the usual morning briefing.

A shooting around 3:30 this morning. Winston fired two long time employees for some less than savory behavior. I’m interviewing one of the replacements. I’ve got three adulterous staff members Winston wanted me to look into. One is the husband and wife as it turns out, the other, just the husband.

Right, like there were only three people cheating on their spouses on Winston’s payroll. These three had just become too public and too problematic, probably because they made someone look bad, or were cheating with someone important, or not important enough.

The shooting was in the neighborhood? Rez hadn’t heard anything, or shot anyone for that matter.

Yes.

Cops aren’t releasing anything yet?

Right.

Rez circled back, having prioritized what she said in a different order than it was delivered. What was the unsavory behavior?

Drugs and prostitution of course.

Let me know where they end up and all that, Rez said only half interested.

And how the shooting goes as well, Megan said, trying to keep things moving faster than Rez’s creaking brain functions. I also wanted to let you know that there has been a forth vehicle break-in.

Yeah, is Winston pushing this? How am I supposed to catch these people? Probably some teenage pecker heads who found out it’s easy to steal shit out of cars with no alarm system. Rez slid the milk back into the fridge. "Or cars with alarm systems."

Megan put on an impatient face. Yes Winston is pushing this. I explained to him that the police don’t have anything to go from. However, she emphasized sharply, "Nobel said that if it’s like you say - teenage pecker heads - they are often discouraged by news coverage. Number four after a week of news coverage is not what I would describe as discouraging these people."

Fine I’ll keep looking, maybe, and he had no plan to, Maybe they should put a few more cameras in that goddamn parking garage. Megan had no input to offer on that point. You need me to look into anything?

Not for the moment, no. Nobel may have something new for you today anyway. Rez hated going downtown, hated parking garages, and didn’t care if some rich people got their shit stolen while using one. He wasn’t around to babysit and he knew Megan was working on it, and would likely sort it out. If the victims asked, Rez had already sorted it out anyway. Shit happens.

Rez approached her, invading her personal space a little more than she was completely comfortable with, particularly when he was in his drawers. At six foot, something close to three inches, he towered over Megan's five, five frame. That shit'll kill ya, he said with the same look he'd give someone drinking piss, and went back the exact route he'd come in by.

Megan stared blankly at his back in disbelief of his indifference. It irritated her sometimes, how he could make light of things that were really important to her. Those times she reminded herself of the education she'd worked for, the expensive education that earned her a far more prestigious career than this one. She couldn’t help but wonder how Rez had gotten into doing … what he did. It was clear to her that he didn’t like the city or its residents. Hell, it didn’t seem to her that Rez liked anyone.

Every time she had this notion though, the little Megan with horns and black lace on her shoulder would chime in the amount of money she pulled down a year. Oh, and the luxury and life she and Rez had access to while in the employ of Avery Winston.

Admittedly, Rez had spoken more actual words just then than any other typical morning, but it was all pretty typical. If he acted any more concerned with life, Megan knew it meant the world was ending and the sky was falling. Sure, it was a reassuring thought, but if he surprised her with a little show of appreciation, she would be grateful.

Thirty-five minutes passed before Rez appeared again, this time dressed. The gray silk suit looked good on him, Megan noticed. He'd chosen a white shirt and went the extra mile with good leather shoes, wristwatch and a simple silver chain around his neck. Accompanying him was the 14-inch Remington 870 shotgun he either sleeps with or rides with, and leather bag used for carrying files or a lap top.

Are you carrying? Megan asked with questioning brows and searching eyes. Besides the shotgun.

Yeah, just the SIG.

Megan walked around him to check for obvious signs, but since she had to ask in the first place, there were none. In seven plus years working with Rez, she'd developed a keen eye for such things.

Her accusing examination put Rez to defending his carry choice before she could say anything about him over doing it with the firepower. "I