Gold n' Rain

By David and Linda Broughton

Vince retires from the Seattle police department, fed up with the red tape, and tired of the rainy weather. He finds an amazing discovery under his new home near Phoenix, that might tie into the strangest murder case he's ever seen. Vince can't leave it alone, he has to get involved, so he volunteers his services. The poor county takes him up on his offer, then the trouble starts. He winds up with many miscreants wanting him dead, but he's well trained, and gets prepared, he sends many to their just reward, but now his new girlfriend is somehow involved, which he doesn't find out until she shows up at his door wounded and bleeding. This ticks Vince off more than when the miscreants come after him, so he quits playing defense and goes on the offense, he'll show these scum how he deals with bad boys when no rules apply... if they don't kill him first. Mystery, mayhem, romance, and humor, this book has all that and more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David and Linda Broughton
• Release date: Feb 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458049803

David and Linda Broughton

The love of my life, Linda, is deceased. There will be a few more books by us, since more are written, they are not edited yet. In her honor I will try to get them edited and out to the public, but it's not easy for me. I have a new writing partner now, as well as a partner in life. No it will never be the same, nor should it. To those that review my books. I would greatly appreciate it if you actually READ the entire book before you write the review. Skimming it and posting a review just minutes after you buy it doesn't give a full understanding of the work. One person did this with "Grumpy Old Spy" and totally missed the entire story, and got what they did catch all wrong. I don't appreciate that. If you're not going to do an honest assessment after reading the entire book, don't bother to review it at all. In fact, if that person would contact me, I'll give them their money back for the book, providing they pull the cheap shot review.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Vince looks at himself in the rearview mirror as he waits for the go ahead from the SWAT team commander. His normally light chocolate complexion has a gray cast to it these days. When he gets out of the car, his body gives him a few odd pains. Lately, he's been feeling much older than his forty-two years. He realizes his body is thinner, his tall formerly very muscular body is not in the fine shape it was before this case. His workouts, as well as almost everything else, have been put on hold during this case. Even his dark brown curly hair isn't looking so good lately. The ever-present dampness has put a permanent chill in his bones. The only thing he's made a point of keeping up is his target practice. This is the day he'll put that practice to use, if given the slightest opportunity.

This day is one Vince has worked so hard and long to see. The rat bastard is finally cornered in this abandoned warehouse slated for demolition. As far as he's concerned, the worthless scumsucker is the one slated for demolition, Vince doesn't care if he has to burn down this entire lot of old warehouses to do it.

Vince sincerely hopes the slimeball is armed. Nothing will make up for what this lunatic has done, but nobody on the force wants this guy to get to court. The sick bastard would most likely get sent to some cushy mental institution. Hell, the wily bastard could eventually con the docs into thinking he's cured and be released. I don't think any of this team of Seattle police officers surrounding the building wants that, or anyone else, for that matter. Even the bleeding heart do-gooders want this guy burned at the stake.

Hell, the civil liberties people want this guy dead as much as we do, this lunatic has been snatching little girls, torturing them for as long as they can take it, then leaving their mangled little bodies to be found, usually by other kids, since he leaves the bodies at parks and playgrounds. I finally figured out who it was, after three months of nearly round the clock work.

Once I had the who, finding him became a little easier, but not much, since this bastard didn't run in the circles that the usual snitches do, so they couldn't get a line on him. They did try hard. Every cop in the department leaned on their snitches as hard as ever. They'll be glad to see this scum in the ground too, not only will it get us off their backs, but the criminals also find what this sick son of bitch was doing vile and disgusting.

Contrary to standard procedure, Vince will lead the team into the building, whether or not the higher ups like it. The SWAT team leader is fine with it, he understands. He will be backing Vince up personally, probably hoping to get a shot at this bastard too. When the entire area is cordoned off, with cops blocking every conceivable escape route, Vince gets the signal through the com set. Entry is made covertly, from all sides.

When they sneak in, toward the back of the warehouse, they find the bastard with a scalpel in hand, torturing yet another little girl. Many shots ring out, some of them are from Vince's own forty-five Colt by Kimber. Vince doesn't truly realize he's shooting, he continues to pull the trigger after the weapon is empty.

Though the perp is down, more shots are fired into him by nearly everyone that entered. Nobody wants him to survive. His body now is a bloody mass of bullet holes, not much else. Blood and brain matter have splattered all over the place.

The paramedics that were on standby are signaled. They're not for the scum, they were on standby for any officers that might need attention, but now they'll do what they can for the little girl bound to the portable table. Their grave looks tell Vince she probably won't make it. Damn it to hell! If we had been just a couple of hours earlier!

Vince makes a decision right here and now, he's done. He nearly has his twenty in, since they count military service in this police department. It means he'll only get three-quarters pension, but he'll manage on that. He can't take another case anything like this one, his body and mind can't take any more, and he knows it.

Vince is anxious to get outside. The smell of death mixed with the cordite smell from so many expended rounds is about to make him ill. He trots outside, the fresh air doesn't help a bit. He leaves the meager contents of his stomach on the pavement outside to be washed away by the damn ever-present rain. He's not the only one.

The SWAT team leader marches out with a pistol bagged and tagged. Vince never saw a pistol, only the small scalpel. He thinks the commander is trying to cover everyone's ass. The damn liberals that fill this city won't raise a stink over this scumbag getting his just reward, not this time, but the brass might.

Vince doesn't care about it anymore. He's tired of the bullshit, tired of having his hands tied by red tape and political bullshit. He's done, with the police and this damned rainy place.

On the slow ride back to the station, Vince ponders on where he'll go, what he might do. He doesn't have a clue at the moment. Wherever he goes, it will be someplace warm and dry, he's sure of that. I've been at this longer than anyone should have to be. How some of the guys make it to a full thirty, I have no idea.

Chapter 2

The rain is pouring down … again or still, it kind of depends on one's viewpoint. Does the let up to only a drizzle constitute a stop? I don't know, I've never known, I hope soon I won't have to think about it again. I've lived in Seattle for many years. All I remember is the damn rain, mostly looking at dead bodies in the rain. There isn't anything more depressing than that.

Vince's career as a homicide detective is over. Now, he's retired from that, as of a couple of days ago. At the young age of forty two, he took his twenty-year pension. Since his military time counts toward Pension City, he was only actually a cop for fourteen years but gets credited for twenty, and gets a three quarters pension. The city no longer counts military time for new hires, but he got in before they quit that, so they have to honor the original contract.

I'll sure be glad to be out of this damn rainy place soon. Vince is waiting on a flight. It's late, as they usually are around here. If he ever gets aboard, he will be out of Seattle forever, he hopes. He's going to Arizona, Phoenix to start with. He'll check around for something to do with his time from there. He picked that state only on the basis of it being warm and dry there most of the time. He may not like the place, for all he knows now. There are always other warm places if he doesn't.

There is also another feature he found interesting when he researched Phoenix online; private investigations is a profitable business there. Many companies located there need private investigations of many kinds. Good, highly skilled investigators are rare in that area. Getting a license is easy, so is a concealed carry permit, which he'll want whether he becomes an investigator there or not.

He had his weapons Fed-Exed to his hotel in advance. No longer an active duty cop, there's no way to get them on the plane other than in the luggage hold. Knowing how airlines are with luggage, he wasn't about to go that route. His weapons are like old friends. He won't treat his old friends that way. He feels rather naked at the moment, not packing anything at all, not a pistol, knife, or so much as a nail clipper, the airport security being what it is these days. I wonder what the hell they think somebody will do with nail clippers, threaten the crew with a bad manicure?

While he is waiting for his plane to be called, Vince makes a call to the hotel he booked. A fine, fancy one, from what he saw online. He informs the reservations department that his flight is delayed, he has no idea how long it will be. He has them check to see if his Fed Ex packages have arrived. They have, they will send them up to his room whenever he checks in. His mind more at ease, he tries to relax a bit.

Vince buys a real coffee, from a vendor. That's another thing I won't miss, all the junk they have here masquerading as coffee. Anyone can usually find a latte this, soy that, nearly anywhere in this damn city, but a plain black coffee is difficult to find. When I do find a place that has it, sellers and customers look down their noses at me or anyone that tries to buy plain coffee.

The tiny gift shop has the most recent issue of Guns and Ammo. Vince buys a copy then sits down to read it while he drinks his coffee. He's through the coffee and halfway through the magazine when his flight is finally called. He booked first class for once in his life, so he gets to board first. He's not rich, not by a long shot. His pension will see him in good stead, since he's normally the frugal sort, if he can pick up a little money on the side, so much the better. He has some money saved, about fifty thousand of it was left him by his parents years ago. That plus interest, with the extra two hundred thousand he got when he sold his condo, after the bank got their cut, makes a tidy nest egg, but he knows all too well that if he dips into it much, it won't last long. He has another account with enough in it to get him a car of some sort, but not a new one. It should cover a few month's rent on a decent apartment or something too.

When he gets seated in first class, in the front row so he can stretch out his long legs, he continues reading the magazine. I'm not going to bother to feign an interest when the -- what do they call them nowadays -- is it stil, flight attendants? whatever, when they do their spiel I'll ignore that BS. He tries not to pay a lick of attention when they do the safety routine, but almost laughs out loud when the attendant mentions putting his head between his legs. He's flown enough to know that a seatbelt or putting his head anywhere isn't going to save him if this bird falls out of the sky from thirty-five thousand feet. The only good reason to put your head between your legs if this damn thing is going to crash is to kiss your ass goodbye.

Once they are in the air, the service is wonderful. He has some great coffee, and has a brandy too. There's no meal on the flight, he would rather not eat airline food anyway, first class or not. He's offered champagne, but refuses this. One brandy at this altitude is quite enough. They also offer hot towels. I don't see the sense in this hot towel thing unless they're going to shave me too. Where the hell were the nice hot towels when I came in out of the rain at the airport, that would be a damn sight better place for them.

Chapter 3

The flight was pretty smooth, considering the weather in Seattle, because the pilots knew to get above it all. When they land in Phoenix, the first class passengers are the first off the plane, of course. This little privilege is really another joke the airlines play on people. I still have to wait just as long to get my luggage, probably longer since it probably got loaded first. Duh! Vince smacks himself in the head with the palm of his hand. Why the hell didn't I Fed Ex my luggage on ahead when I sent my weapons? That would have made it so easy. Oh well, as the old saying goes, too soon old, too late smart.

It takes about a half hour for Vince to collect his luggage. If a person gets there and checks in early like they want you to, the luggage is way back in the hold. Last minute arrivals get their bags quicker ... if they get them at all, of course. He schleps his bags over to an off-brand car rental outfit where he made a reservation. The company is called Resort Car Rentals. The lady here couldn't be sweeter. They don't have the midsize he requested available so she upgrades him to a Lincoln Town Car. These days, they may be fancy, but not any larger than a good midsize. Such is the way of the world these days, more and more money for less and less. That applies to nearly everything, cars especially.

When he gets out to the car, Vince tosses his two bags in the back seat. What other things he kept, he has in a storage unit back in Seattle. The rent on it is paid for a year. He figures if he doesn't go and get the stuff by then, he doesn't really need it. He can send for it, it's stored with a company that also does hauling. He'll consider that when he finds a place he wants to call home for sure.

Using the nav system in this fancy ride, he finds the Ritz-Carlton Phoenix easily. Nice deal that thing, whatever I buy, I'll have to have something like that installed. What a time saver that is. The Ritz-Carlton Phoenix is everything he would expect for a place with the Ritz-Carlton name … and then some, everything is top of the line, as far as he can tell from appearances. However, at the check in desk he's disappointed. They didn't save his room, and are booked up.Vince snaps at the desk clerk, Hey, I called and told them I'd be late because my flight was delayed. They said they would hold the room.

One moment sir. The young man calls somebody. He talks in hushed tones, Vince can't make out what he's saying. The clerk makes another call. In a moment, an older gentlemen appears beside the young man, as if by magic, since Vince was taking in a beautiful blonde that walked by. The older gentleman's name tag says he is Eduardo Salazar, manager. Eduardo speaks in hushed tones, I'm sorry sir. There was a miscommunication. We cannot give you the suite you requested, we have only one suite not booked, the Presidential suite. Will that suite for the same price be satisfactory?

Vince contains his excitement. An upgrade at the car rental place, now an upgrade here, I feel like his life is changing for the better already. He tries to seem disappointed, I suppose it will do. I thought this place was supposed to be the best, yet you can't seem to handle a simple late check in. What's with that?

New help sir, I'm sure you understand how difficult it is to find trained help.

Oh, rookie mistakes? Really, or are you blaming it on the rookie to cover your own butt? Been there done that. Okay, show me to this suite. Vince is doing his best to look perturbed by this, but isn't sure he's pulling it off, he's not that much of an actor, though he did get a little practice with the police department, playing good cop, bad cop, or occasionally going undercover. Maybe I can milk it for the entire two weeks I plan on staying here. Probably not, but it's worth a shot.

For two weeks, he is going to act like he's on a vacation. He'll scout around to get the lay of the land. If it really is as promising here as his research suggested, he'll find an apartment or maybe a small house in a less upscale neighborhood. For his needs, about anything will do. He won't bother with an actual office, at least not at first. That's just added expense. He can meet the clients at places of their choosing, likely their corporate offices.

The bellman shows him to the elevator. They ride to the top floor, where anyone would expect the best suite in the place to be. The suite is marvelous, as he would expect. It's deluxe beyond compare to anything he's ever known. The suite has everything he could want, including a high quality baby grand piano. Vince plays keys, as a hobby, sometimes sitting in with this or that blues or jazz band when he could find the time. Maybe now I can sit in with a band a hell of a lot more often. Probably not in Phoenix, but maybe, my research said almost everybody that lives here is a transplant from somewhere, which means there might be a blues or jazz place or two around. Vince tips the bellman a twenty. Not a lot, but not a buck either.

The first thing he does is sit down at the piano. It's a Steinway, a good brand, not the antique Böesendorfer he wants someday, if he can ever afford it. He plays a blues riff. It sounds great, somebody has tuned and voiced it recently. He spends a couple of hours playing whatever comes to mind. This deal is going to be great, at least for the two weeks or so I'm here, if I can keep these fancy digs for the whole time, that is.

Vince cleans up and refreshes himself a bit, then puts on an Armani suit. He appropriated a few of them from a dead drug dealer's digs a while back. The dealer happened to be my size. It's not like he was going to need them anymore. They weren't evidence either. I don't mind bending the rules, or breaking a few, some are silly, why let perfectly good stuff go to waste?

Vince has his own set of ideas of right and wrong. He was sorely tempted to make off with large amounts of cash when he worked the drug busts, but that would be wrong in his eyes. He never took a bribe to throw a case, either. Now and again, some extras showed up in the form of gifts from grateful people, he took those, contrary to police policy. Not once did he ask for or expect anything extra. Some people liked to show their gratitude with a suit, a pie, or something from whatever business they happened to be in.

Vince let a few low end crooks off, as all cops do, if they would give him info on bigger fish either then or later. Having a few small time crooks indebted to a cop is really the only way to do the job. Without info from somewhere, cases don't get solved very often. His solved rate was the best in the city, at one time his solved rate was the best in the country. He milked that for all it was worth too. He got to go around lecturing at police symposiums, academies, and conventions, but made no pretenses about how he got his info.

Vince gets into the elevator to go to the restaurant, of course it is five star too. He isn't pleased with what he sees when a waiter goes by with a tray of orders, it's nothing but a smidgen of food on a fancy dressed up plate. Dressed up or not, this is not his style at all, he's actually hungry, not here to impress anyone.

As he steps back out into the lobby, the clerk asks him if the suite is satisfactory. Vince frowns, I suppose it will do. The clerk mentions sending his packages up to the suite. Vince tells him to be sure to do that then goes out to the valet stand. They have his car in moments. He tips the valet a twenty, the most he's ever tipped one. Staying in these fancy digs has it's drawbacks. Oh well, I won't go broke tipping a few hard working kids. Maybe when I leave, I'll tip them a C-note. In these fancy places, they probably get that all the time. No, there's no sense wasting money for nothing, it won't impress them a bit, if they earn it somehow, then that's a different matter.

With the help of the navigation system, Vince finds the name and route to a place he might like. It's called Rustler's Rooste, on south forty-eighth street. It's not too pricey of a place, judging from the listing. As he drives there, he again thinks the nav system is a godsend.

The Rooste isn't too much to look at from the outside, it's in a what was a rather plain strip mall, but it now takes up the bulk of the building, only a touristy shop selling printed souvenir T-shirts, caps and other items is separate from the restaurant-bar. Vince notices there are lots of picnic style tables outside on a patio setup. It's probably a nice place to have a lunch, when it's not too hot or too cold. That's most of the time as far as he's concerned. The warm, dry climate here is already soothing the aches in his body and mind from so many years in the damp climate.

Inside is done up very western, with lots of logs and wagon wheels, scarecrows, hay bales and things like that. There is a stage for a live band in the bar area. He thinks they start about nine, as in most places. Vince checks his watch. It's nearly eight now, maybe I'll stay to check them out. Most likely they will be of the country variety, to go with the theme of the place, but I don't mind a little of that.

Some country is okay by him, the dance music especially. He's never been a fan of the crying in your beer music … if one can call it music. The music itself is just too simple for his tastes, no matter the lyrics. He decides to order the priciest thing on the menu, a Porterhouse steak for thirty dollars. Side dishes are a small amount extra, but that way the customer gets what they want, not what the restaurant may want to serve. Thirty bucks for a two pound Porterhouse is a decent value, if it's the real deal, I don't think I can buy it at a meat counter for that low of a price... can I? Maybe beef prices are lower here, it's a lot of food for my money. He orders some fries with it.

For now, Vince drinks only Cokes, he is driving. That's all he would need to ruin his chances in this town, a drunk driving arrest. The cute waitress takes his