Revenge Served Cold

By G. Allen Clark

He was 35 or 36, he couldn’t remember. His memory was still a little shaky. If he counted his life backwards, he would eventually remember. Tonight he felt closer to 95. The sounds of the deep night were sometimes deafening, sometimes peaceful - like tonight. Crickets, picking up where the frogs and the katydids left off, conjured up a crescendo outside the wide-open French doors. The serenade would go on for most of the night. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked angrily, and then yelped as a cat it cornered, let out a deafening howl and took the dog’s nose off. He sat naked in the wicker chair, atop the newly reupholstered cushions.

It is said, that right after love, revenge can be the most powerful motivator for man. After the death of Vince Roberts friends and the near death and rescue of Vince himself, the obsession for the newly minted Roberts investigation organization is the capture of its number one quarry Kinsey. However, revenge work two ways and armed with a new name and a fortune in gold coins, Kinsey has other ideas. In his mind, the only way he is ever going to be free is by the calculated elimination of his pursuers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Allen Clark
• Release date: Feb 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301566938

G. Allen Clark

G. Allen Clark has been writing for over 40 years. He was the co-owner of a 2nd hand pickers marketplace in Colorado Springs called The Flipping Peddler. He and his partner sold that business in 2021 and semi-retired to concentrate on refinishing furniture and writing. Retirement is not a way of life he enjoyed. He soon found a new outlet that combined the best of both worlds. In 2023, he bought an 1887 church and opened another antique vendor’s marketplace and used bookstore in Larned, Kansas You'll find it today as "Old Church Antiques and the 2nd Page Bookstore in Larned Kansas"His marketing and business expertise grew from his business and as an Adult education instructor in Small Businesses Entrepreneurship and having owned the market places listed aboveSince 1982, Clark has written various articles and ‘how-to’ e-books. One on Professional Selling entitled “The Perfect Profession” another on “Writing Copy as a Career,” and another on writing structure for managers & professionals, entitled “Writing to be Read.” Multiple Media copies can be found here on Smashwords..

Book preview

Chapter 1.Prolog

He was 35 or 36, he couldn’t remember. His memory was still a little shaky. If he counted his life backwards, he would eventually remember. Tonight he felt closer to 95. The sounds of the deep night were sometimes deafening, sometimes peaceful - like tonight. Crickets, picking up where the frogs and the katydids left off, conjured up a crescendo outside the wide-open French doors. The serenade would go on for most of the night. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked angrily, and then yelped as a cat it cornered, let out a deafening howl and took the dog’s nose off. He sat naked in the wicker chair, atop the newly reupholstered cushions. The cool 75-degree air felt good on his burning skin. Out in the newly finished koi pond, he could hear the expensive fish, break the surface of the water as they sucked in some hapless insect that got too close to the waters surface. The hum of the overhead veranda fan above him, and the hiss of the blades as they cut the humid Virginia air, masked the sound of her bare feet as she came up alongside him.

Vince? She touched his shoulder just above the long scar. He winced.

Are you ok?

I’m getting my ass kicked; burning up.

Your medication?

Yeah. I’ll be alright, go back to bed.

I woke. You were gone. You weren’t in the bathroom, so I figured you’d be out here. Are you good enough to come back to bed?

He hesitated. The truth of the matter was that he was hurting, but he didn’t want her to know to what extent. He also didn’t want her to know he had stopped taking the pain medication. The pills scared him. He needed more doses rather then fewer. Time was not his friend in this.

Not for a while. All I do is toss and turn and keep you awake.

You not being there woke me. Did you take a sleeping pill?

Not yet. I’m needing too many of them, but I’m not sleeping without them.

You need your rest. It does you no good to sit up here all night, waiting for exhaustion to take over

I doubt even another pill will help me tonight.

As she came around to the front of his chair, he could see she was wearing only the tops of her baby-doll nightgown. They had made love earlier and the scent of their sex was still with her. He felt a rise under her and realized that pain diminished if he occupied his mind with other thoughts. That was good. It hadn’t been like that for a long time, the pain meds dulling his senses.

She asked, Why? What else is bothering you?

Everything, questions with no answers and leads that turn into dead ends. Same thing that always bothers me, just a different day. She straddled his bare legs, facing him as he spoke, wrapping her hands around his neck; watching his face as he answered. She knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway.

Not the same man I hope.

Yes. He could feel her tense up. He knew she’d be angry. He’s still out there. We’ve had feelers out all over the place, and I’ll be dammed if he’s not one-step ahead of us at every turn. He’s close. I know it Pia; I can feel the son-of-a-bitch and I want him.

He’s not going to get any closer by you sitting up at all hours of the night thinking about where he could be. She said with an edge to her voice, and then with a deep breath to calm her rising frustration, she closed in to kiss his neck. She felt him tense, then quickly relaxed and she knew she was getting to him.

"I’m not thinking about him. I’m trying to out-think him. It’s different. I’m trying to get into his head and think – what would I do if I were him, running from someone? Besides, what else can I do? As long as he is out there – running free, I can’t sleep. She tensed up again and he knew he had touched a nerve.

Why torture yourself? Her attempt to calm her frustration lost its battle. Her voice became thrill. He’s already caused as much damage as he can, to you, to us, Gunny, Tina, my mother, all dead. And you - you were left to die, and I . . . , her voice broke as the memory of those days came back to her. You were in that mine so deep . . . buried. I would have never known what happened to you, she said softly. He could feel the tears on his neck. He touched her arm and she flinched; the fear and anger, etched into the creases of her frown, enhanced by the shadows of the night.

I’m sorry babe. He held her close. "I know you’re scared and I’m sorry.

But, you’re not going to stop.

I have to finish this.

She cried, Your leg’s probably never going to heal if you keep pushing yourself. You’re always going to be in pain, she said as she pulled back to arms length to stare him in the face. "What more do you want this man to do to us, finally, succeed in his obsession to kill you? Kill us both?"

It’s not that simple Pia. It’s something I have to do. I made a promise to an old man in a mineshaft. I can never go back on my promise.

She gave up. He had her; she’d lost. She couldn’t argue anymore. Gunny had been her surrogate father. He had practically raised her.

I know Vince and that makes you the man I love but what about your promise to me? She paused to let her words sink in. "Let Bill or Pointman go after him. That’s why you have them. I need you here. I need you whole and well. This sitting up until two and three in the morning isn’t doing you any good and it isn’t helping me either. Besides, I don’t think it’s a matter of a promise anymore. I think its more revenge.

She left his lap and stood up, facing him. I’m going back to bed. Coming?

"You may be right, but I’m too tired to go down that road with you tonight. Help me up and yes, I’ll go back to bed with you. I promise to let it go.

It’s about time you started listening to me.

I always listen to you baby. He stopped. Something she had said or had done sparked a memory, an idea, a spot where they hadn’t looked yet.

Why are you stopping? Come on, the bedroom’s this way.

Go ahead, I’ll be right there. This won’t take but a minute. I need to check something.

Damnit Vince, you’re lying to me.

"I’m not honey, I will be right in. I promise. Keep it warm.

Chapter 2.

He couldn’t remember when he first got the little calico kitten, she just showed up one day, all furry, forlorn and clearly abandoned. He hadn’t adopted her. Not too many months after Bill Paterson retired from the Huerfano County Sheriff’s Department; she showed up at his door and more or less adopted him, allowing him to feed her, occasionally playing games with him. He simply called her Cat because he didn’t want to attach himself to anything or anyone anymore. However, gradually she grew on him.

The game she would play was one of her design. She would role over in the center of the floor, just ahead of his feet as he was leaving, as if begging him to rub her tummy. He would bend to do so, and she would jump up, run just out of arms reach, then flop down in front of him and roll over again. He would shuffle forward thinking she was going to stay and she would jump up again. After the second time he’d say screw it and go about his business while she would jump to the back of her favorite chair, lick her paws, first the tan one, then the black one, all the while purring boldly - gottcha!

This routine would happen daily until one day he moved quicker, lost his balance and stepped on her, breaking her front leg. Who said cats were quick? The vet, a homely woman with a slight mustache and a hairy mole the size of a large pea under her chin, clucked to herself as she examined the howling cat. She eyed Bill with more than mild suspicion. Her silence and the shaking of her head suggested animal cruelty charges were forthcoming. The facts he presented as his excuse didn’t wash with her, anymore then they washed with the cat.

Months later – despite the cast having been removed, the cat still refused to let him anywhere near her, so he grew accustomed to her running away when he entered the room. Gradually his guilty feeling went away. Today however, as he turned to close the door, he glanced over to where she normally lay, only to see her once again lying at his feet. He checked himself at first, and then bent to scratch the light tan and brown fuzzy belly. She ran off. The games began anew. She had forgiven him.

On his walk to the office, after parking his five-year-old car in the tenant garage, he would occasionally pass the Vet. Homeless by choice, the Vet was regularly holed up in the alleyway between the buildings just off the corner of 4th and Main, two buildings down from his office door. For years, the bald headed, dirty knit watch capped man sat in the same location, and you could always tell when he would be around the corner, because the air had that pungent odor of body sweat and rotten potatoes. The smell would be the first alert. The visual affect of the tattered, ill-fitting and frayed clothing would be the second. People would walk away from the corner or take a wide turn to the other side of the street. Any means of avoidance was better then facing him head on. The Vet was an obvious alcoholic. He’d drink cheap wine, mouthwash, lighter fluid or Sterno; stolen from catering trucks, it didn’t matter. His choice – when the money was right was cheap vodka. One could tell because he smelled like rotten potatoes. Old cops never forget that smell. Paterson grey up with that smell. It had been his dads smell.

Bill called the old man the Vet because he always wore the same old army clothes. Paterson didn’t know if he had ever been in the service, but in a military town, camos were easier to come by then real names. At times, especially on cold or rainy days, he’d feel sorry for him, giving him a dollar or two. However, he never bothered to get his story. The old Vet never appeared to want to give it anyway.

Today was a nice early fall morning, beautiful day for a walk. The morning sun was already warming the sidewalks after a chilly night. The weather prediction was that the thermometer would reach the mid 60’s maybe 70. It would be too nice to be inside. Perhaps he would grab the laptop and find an excuse to lunch in the park today. It was such a nice day he would not need much of an excuse.

As he passed the corner, on the other side of the street and old street man, gestured wildly, catching Bill’s eye, stopping him on the sidewalk. The Vet stared at him with bloodshot eyes and held his bony index finger up, pointing skyward twice in rapid succession. To anyone watching it would appear the bum was shooting Bill the finger, but Bill knew what he meant. He crossed the street, smiled at the old man and put a five in the old Vets rusty can.

Get something to eat old man, you need it. The vet shot him a toothless smile, his lips chapped and stretched taught. He rubbed his scraggly bearded face with a partially gloved hand that hadn’t see soap and water in months and then licked his lips, anticipating the day of drink ahead of him. I will surely do that Mr. Paterson, he said, as old knurly fingers reached eagerly for the money. Paterson hoped the he did buy food today. As emaciated as he was, he needed it.

Like nails on a chalkboard, a crow cawed somewhere high in one of the park trees. Paterson hated crows. Distracted, he looked for the bird, but was unsuccessful. He turned back to where the Vet sat, but the old man had gone. The only thing that lingered was the smell. That quick, Bill thought. Nothing more than a flash and that old bum was out of sight. Perhaps he was afraid Bill was going to lecture him some more. Paterson shook his head then crossed back over to the other side of the street and continued to the office.

Paterson’s office was on the fourth floor - above a popular sandwich restaurant in downtown Colorado Springs. An early 20th century building; converted to executive suites, the office was perfect for their operation. His benefactor, Vince Roberts - Bills friend and financial partner in the agency, purchased both the building and its off-street parking garage. Now the entire operation was a front for the different divisions of a multi-national investigation organization. Each office appeared as a separate company but the doors were a facade that concealed an internal network of interconnected communications hubs. Each hub networked into various agencies and governments throughout the world. In the center of this magnificent design in technology, sat its architect and electronic genius - Jake Pittman – AKA "Pointman.

Pointman was a former Marine and ex resident of Huerfano county as well. Born in 1963, he had entered the Marines when he was 18 and fresh out of school. Unless you farmed or fished, there were little job prospects in the tiny town of Stevens Point, Wisconsin. So he joined the Marines at the downside of the war in Vietnam. Because he excelled in auto mechanics in his junior and senior years of high school, he was assigned to transportation services; AKA, the motor pool in Nam. He managed to survive a full year there before he was rotated out.

Due to his high achievement scores in both marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat, plus his outstanding service in Vietnam, he was singled out for special weapons training. Where he had once been lost to the grease and grime of the motor pool, here he excelled. Assigned to the 5th Special Forces Group he was part of a new group originally called Blue Light, a small counter-terrorist group, which became fully operation in the later part of 1979, early 1980 where it became known as Delta Force.

On November 4th, 1979, a day Pointman remembers vividly, he was part of the Delta force group assigned to rescue the 52 American hostages being held in Iran. Called Operation Eagle Claw, the mission aborted when two of the support helicopters failed to take off and then another helicopter crashed into one of the transport planes in the desert outpost of Iran. Pointman had been onboard the transport plane and suffered multiple injuries, including a hearing loss in one ear, and eye damage that required him to wear specially made lenses for a while. Lenses and injuries that ended his Ranger career. Not one to ride a desk, Pointman opted out of the Marines. In 1981, at the ripe old age of 28, he was discharged from active military. By 1983, thanks to the VA doctors and rehab, the eye was repaired and he had regained most of his hearing in his right ear.

His VA Pension couldn’t keep up with the lifestyle of a 28-year-old Marine. At the local library, while researching the help wanted ads of newspapers from as far away as Denver Colorado, he came across a little ad for police officers in the southern Colorado community of Walsenburg, county of Huerfano. Two days before the Fourth of July, 1983, he took his test for a police officer. One week later, he entered the Police Academy.

Two months after coming out of the police academy and still a rookie, he was on patrol in the North West section of the county and while investigating a break in at a small ranch off SR 520, Jake heard the boom of what sounded like a cannon across the other side of the wash. Having finished writing his report, he headed his Chevy Blazer towards the sound. Another boom rang out yet sounded closer. Now he was on the border edge of the county. At this point, he saw a man target shooting. From a distance, using field glasses, the rifle the man firing appeared to be a Kentucky long rifle. A weapons aficionado, Pointman rolled up on the man and got out of the car. This was his first time meeting Gunny and the two struck up a lively conversation involving civil war weaponry, antique firearms and collectibles. When Gunny offered the rifle for Jake to shoot, he made a friend for life.

Later that week, in town at Mary Ann’s Diner, he met Gunny again. That’s when Pointman found out that, Mary Ann and Gunny were seeing each other and that he was a regular in the diner. They both agreed that their meeting had been fortunate.

During the ensuing years, Pointman obtained his Federal Firearms Permit so that he could trade in weapons out of state. He also opened up a small firearms business doing weapon repairs out of his converted garage. Gunny was a regular visitor. Jake was also adapt at computers, and specialized in counter surveillance and investigation. Over the years, he built up quite a network of computer investigators. These people would later come in handy when he helped Pia and Vince.

After leaving the SO, he opened his gun shop. The first time Vince walked into his shop, he felt like he had entered the national museum of gun shows. The place was full of war relics, old weapons, various canvas and tents hanging from the walls. On the shelf behind the counter were rifles and shotguns of every caliber, some new, some used. Everything was either painted black, dark green or camouflage.

For a doorway into his office, Pointman used a curtain made from an old army tent. At home or in his shop, the clothing he was most comfortable with was a holey camouflage t-shirt that had been tie-dyed and had seen better days. He often wore cut off camouflaged pants one leg longer than the other, the pants a victim of a drunken night and a pair of scissors. He wore these with a pair of high top tennis shoes that didn’t match as well. When Vince first met him, the scraggly chin whiskers was something he was passing off as a beard, and the floppy jungle hat, hid the fact that he had gone bald on top eons ago, yet was reluctant to get rid of the mullet look. Since then, he had managed to refine himself with a clean-shave and a haircut.

"Gunny had always told Vince that Pointman was one of few the men he could trust. Vince had learned that this was very much the truth when Pointman offered to help him find Gunny’s killer. When Paterson opened the detective agency, Pointman was the first person he called. Under the agreement that he could keep his