Brass Jacket

By Michael Andrews

From the screenwriter of the hit feature film 'Blood and Bone' comes a powerful and violent novel about three determined women.

NONA JAMES is the pregnant, drug-addicted, teenager from the streets who witnesses her boyfriend’s violent murder by Caesar Noon, son of a powerful mobster.

STELLA NOON is the ruthless gangster-mother who vows to use every weapon in her criminal arsenal to keep her son from spending the rest of his life in prison - even if it means killing the only witness - Nona.

JANICE MARTIN is the young, determined, Philadelphia police detective who, despite her own personal heartbreak and loss, stands between Nona and the assassins sent to kill her.

But beyond the bullets, bloodshed, dangerous chases, violence, tragic losses and shocking betrayals, the true heart of BRASS JACKET lies within the hearts of the three women determined to do whatever they must to protect their children, in an intense confrontation of wills between the gangster-mom, the teenaged girl she is determined to kill, and the cop who vows to protect her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Andrews
• Release date: Mar 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458179487

Michael Andrews

Michael Andrews was born in the wilds of southern New Jersey. In 1996 he moved to Los Angeles to write movies, and is the screenwriter of two feature films: BLOOD AND BONE, an action/martial-arts film starring Michael Jai White, Eamonn Walker and Julian Sands, (Released 2009 by SONY), and DUNSMORE, starring Talia Shire, Kadeem Hardison, Barry Corbin and W. Earl Brown, (released 2003 by IMAGE ENTERTAINMENT). Both films are available on Amazon, Netflix and Itunes.

Book preview

PART ONE

Chapter One

The screams of police sirens on the street below her west Philadelphia apartment awakened Janice Martin from a restless sleep. It was near dawn and the morning primary colors had not fully come to light, leaving her bedroom an ink wash of muted pastels. Janice peeled back the quilt that covered her and rushed to the window to watch as three stories below two city patrol cars raced past her building with their gumball lights flashing. Janice wondered what the call was and watched the cars until they turned out of sight. Once the prowl cars had passed Janice turned from the window and looked at her husband, James, still sleeping soundly. It took more than police sirens under their window to wake James. 

With the prowl cars gone Janice considered snuggling back into bed next to James, maybe jolt him with her cold feet in the small of his back to rouse him. There was time, the alarm wasn’t set for another thirty minutes. But then Janice heard Bobby fussing in the next room, so she pulled her white terry robe on over her flannel nightgown, stepped into her fuzzy slippers and went to Bobby's room across the hall. 

Bobby, three months old, was fretting in his crib, his little arms and legs waving. Janice changed his diaper and carried him to the rocking chair by the window where she nursed and rocked him and hummed him a loving lullaby as the dawn came on.

When she was finished caring for Bobby, Janice returned him to his crib where a contented smile had replaced his fretful frown. Back in the master bedroom Janice saw that there were still three minutes until the alarm clock would chime. James was still sleeping as Janice moved past him toward the bathroom. Suddenly James' hand snaked from the blankets and grabbed her by the hem of her robe.

Gotcha! James said, and jerked Janice back on top of him.

Like I’m so hard to catch, Janice said.

* * *

Thirty minutes later Janice was dressed in a gray pinstripe pants suit and black low-heeled shoes. Janice was tall, five nine and a half, lean and well muscled. The weight she had gained from her pregnancy was slowly melting away with diet and relentless workouts.

In the kitchen James had already poured the coffee.  He was dressed for work in khaki pants, a white shirt and the blue tie Janice liked.

Are you sure you want to go back? James said.

Of course I'm sure.

But are you sure sure. Four months off, I was hoping you'd decide to make it permanent.

It was a conversation Janice and James had danced around for months. You know I never planned on making it permanent, Janice said. And I've pushed the envelope on maternity and sick leave long enough already. Besides, there's no way we could get by on just one income.

Do you ever think of trying a different job? You've got a degree, a teaching certificate would be easy.

I'm no school teacher. You're the one with the patience, not me.

I worry about you is all. Especially now with Bobby.

Janice ran her fingers through his hair - maybe starting to thin a little, I was doing this job before we met, and I like it.

I know, but you weren't a mother before.

Janice looked at her watch, Running late. Lucy will be here for Bobby at seven-thirty. Janice pulled on her raincoat, grabbed her purse and kissed Bobby in his bassinet by the kitchen table, You smell so good.

Hey, how about letting the other guys handle the gung-ho stuff a while?

Janice opened the drawer of a small table by the door, took out a Sig Sauer P 226 in a black leather holster and a Philadelphia police Detective's shield. She smiled back at James, Not a chance, she said, and went out.

Chapter Two

Across town, in a shabby, fifth floor studio walk-up bordering the warehouse districts along the Delaware River under the rush hour roar of Interstate 95, Terry Zajic sat naked on the corner of his bed and lit a glass pipe containing a rock of crystal meth. He drew the smoke in deeply, held it, letting it hit him between the eyes and then smiled loosely as he sighed the smoke out again. Tastes good, like a cigarette should, he said. Most of Terry's references came from hundreds of hours watching cable TV. 'Tastes good like a cigarette should,' was from a Winston cigarette commercial on the TV Classics Channel.

Terry was a skinny, wan, white, twenty-one year old with longish brown hair, an easy smile, and Spider-Man and Wolverine tattoos decorating his deltoids. He stretched and slapped the backside of the young brown woman under the blankets next to him and said, Up and at 'em Atom Ant. Cartoon Network.

Nona James, a pretty, Black, seventeen year old opened her eyes a fraction and mumbled, Huh?

Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, Terry said and leaned over and bit her on the ass.

Nona whined, Oww! Stop! I'm tired! And pulled the blankets over her head.

Terry tugged the blanket off her face, pinched her nose, and in a sing song voice said, Baaabbyyy, time to get uuuuuuup! Daddy’s got people coming over.

Nona slapped Terry's hand away and gave him an angry look. Terry laughed and hit the pipe again. 

Nona could smell the rock cooking. She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes with her palms, Who do you have coming by this early?

Caesar.

Caesar, Nona sighed, Talkin' big all the time.

Caesar talks big 'cause Caesar is big.

You mean his family's big. His brother's big.

Well you'll like Caesar today, sweetie-face, 'cause he's bringing us m-o-n-e-y.

Like I'll see any of it.

Nona tossed the blankets aside and sat up. She looked down at her body, reminded again that she was seven and half months pregnant. Nona was a mix of a white mother and a dark-skinned black father. Depending on the season and the amount of time she spent in the sun her skin tone ranged from light coffee-and-cream to a rich caramel. She scratched her head under a pile of thick, wild, curly, black hair. When her hair was untended Terry called her Sideshow Bob after the wild-haired villain on the Simpsons. But even half awake and disheveled Nona had a beautiful face, flawless skin, rich brown eyes and a brilliant smile.

Terry exhaled another toke on the meth pipe and held it out to Nona, tempting her with a devilish grin.

You know I stopped doing that, Nona said.

Just a little one won't hurt nothin', Terry said, and waved the pipe in front of her like candy to a child, Just a teensy weensy toke to kick off a brand new day. You'll hardly feel it.

Nona shook her head. Terry shrugged lit it up again for himself. Nona shook her head no, but God she was tempted. Nona had been on one drug or another since she was twelve; pills, pot, booze, meth, coke - everything but the needle. She was scared of needles, but for the past few months, with the baby coming, she had been trying hard to stop. The best she could do was cut back most of the time. But this shit that Terry was into - that he had gotten her into - this meth was the worst. Sometimes it was as if it had a voice of it's own that called to her, and once it got a hold of you it did not let go. Why Terry had to keep enticing her with it Nona did not understand. Terry grinned at her then took her face in his hands and blew the smoke slowly right into her nose. 

Nona breathed it in. Shit, Terry, Nona said, then, defeated, Okay, just a little.

Terry grinned and lit the pipe as she held it to her lips. Nona drew deeply from it, held it as long as she could, then blew it out slowly, laying back, saying, Goddamn! I hate this shit.

You mean you love it.

That's why I hate it. Stop shoving it in my face all the time.

Waa waa waa! Terry mocked her. Get some clothes on, baby, Caesar'll be here in a minute.

I need a bath first.  She pushed herself off the broken-spring mattress and staggered to the bathroom in a thin white nightgown. She turned on the water in the ancient claw foot tub and poured bubble bath powder she had bought at the dollar store into the water. The bubbles foamed up quickly and smelled like strawberries.

While she waited for the tub to fill Nona sat on the toilet to pee. The seat was cold and made her shiver with the chill. Then she washed her hands and brushed her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror. Jesus, her hair was a mess and there were dull gray circles under her young eyes. She threw cold water on her face to wake herself up, then dropped her nightie onto the gritty, cracked linoleum floor, which felt so icy on her bare feet that she stepped onto her still warm nightie to keep her feet warm. She looked at her body in the full-length mirror behind the door then held her pregnant belly in her hands. It was not so long ago that she was skinny. Nona shook her head and wondered aloud, What did you do?

Nona touched the bath water with her fingers. It felt warm and inviting. She used the wall to steady herself as she stepped over the side of the tub and lowered herself into the suds. The water in the deep tub came all the way up to her chin and chased the chill right out of her. Nona cupped handfuls of warm soapy water over her pregnant abdomen and breasts. Then she slid deeper into the tub until the water covered her nose and like a five year old, she blew bubbles in the suds.

Chapter Three

Terry dressed quickly in yesterday's jeans, a faded blue t-shirt and red flip-flops. Then he went to the closet by the front door, shoved the coats aside and pulled a canvas backpack from the rear corner. It was the kind of backpack college students carry their laptops in. He put the backpack onto the paint-chipped kitchen table next to a nineteen-inch television. He turned the TV on to the cartoon channel. Yogi Bear was scheming after a pic-a-nic basket under the nose of a bumbling park ranger. Smarter than the average bear, Terry said. 

He went to the sink and made himself a glass of Tang and tap water, stirred the Tang with his forefinger, swallowed some down and said, Ahh.

There was a knock at the door. The clock on the kitchen stove showed seven-forty a.m. Terry moved to the front door, Who is it?

Me.

Terry opened the door and grinned, Hail Caesar! 

Good to see you, Terry, Caesar Noon said.

Boys are up early, Terry said.

Uh-uh, we're up late, Caesar said, stepping in like the place was built for him. Twenty-one and handsome, Caesar was an average size white guy in a retro tan leather jacket, black shirt, faded jeans from Armani Exchange and ankle high tan boots.

Caesar was followed by two of his boys. Artie, a big, pale, twenty-eight year old white guy with a crew cut who looked like a high school wrestling coach dressed in a midnight blue velour track suit and white sneakers, and Johnny B, Black, thirty, in dreads, shades, jeans, cowboy boots and a black t-shirt under a maroon leather jacket. Johnny B carried a gym bag and was the coldest looking Black man Terry had ever seen. Terry had to work overtime to maintain his cool whenever Johnny B was in the room.

Terry said, Have a seat guys. I was just indulging a little. Want a bowl?

Caesar shook his head, That shit's gonna' fuck up your head, Terry, if it hasn't already.

I know my limits, Terry said.

Sure you do, Caesar said, looking around the room, You got it?

Of course. Terry waved them to the backpack on the table.

Caesar nodded to Johnny B, and Johnny B went to the backpack where two kilos of meth were waiting. Johnny B opened his own gym bag in which he carried a testing kit and went to work.

Something to drink? Terry offered.

What’re you drinking?

Tang.

Tang, Caesar laughed, Like a six year old. Next time it'll be Bosco. No thanks, Terry, we already stopped at Dunkin' Donuts.

Terry shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot.

Caesar said, Rest your arches, man, you're making me nervous.

Terry sat down on a crooked, overstuffed green cloth chair he had gotten from Goodwill for twenty-five dollars. His right foot bounced in an anxious rhythm as he glanced, as nonchalantly as he could, at Johnny B testing the goods. He hadn’t counted on that. This was something new.

Caesar smiled at Artie, Look at my boy, Terry. You know we went to school together. Fourth grade through high school.

How about that, Artie said, like he gave a shit.

He don't look like much right now, Caesar said, But he's beautiful, man. Face like Opie. Comb his hair, dress him up in some Abercrombie and the boy could walk an A-bomb into City Hall. Nobody fucks with him.

Terry grinned, What can I say? It's a gift.

How much shit you carried for us, Terry?

Damn, Caesar, I lost count. Lots. Terry glanced again at Johnny B, trying not to look too interested or concerned, then turned back to Caesar and smiled, So how's Alex doing? Haven't seen him for a while.

You know my big brother, all business. Right now he and my Mom are putting together my surprise birthday party. Caesar lit a cigarette.

No shit. Happy birthday. Terry stuck out his hand and Caesar shook it. 

Thanks. It’s tomorrow. Every year my mom throws me a surprise party and every year it's the same. I walk in and half the gunsels, captains and knuckle-busters in town jump out with their wives and yell, 'Surprise!' Nine years old I was blowing out candles with a room full of bosses and hitmen in pointy hats singing, 'Happy Birthday Caesar.' And every year I act surprised. Like at twenty-two I haven't figured it out yet.

Cool, man.

You know why I do it, Terry?

Uh-uh.

For my Mom.

I remember your mom from when we were kids. She was the mom all the fellas wanted to - Terry stopped, thinking better of finishing that thought and said, Your mom didn't look like the other moms, that’s for sure. Your mom always looked like a movie star or something.

I know, the Joan fucking Crawford of Cherry Hill, New Jersey. But don't let the looks throw you off, after the old man got killed Mom really stepped up and raised Alex and me by herself. I figure if she gets a kick out of throwing me a party, what the fuck, you know.

That's nice, Caesar. Real nice.

Johnny B looked at Caesar and shook his head. Caesar took a deep draw from his cigarette and blew it out in a long slow stream then sighed and looked at Terry with cool, dead eyes. You know, Terry, lately there's been problems with some of the shit coming in.

What do you mean?

Shit's been light, you know.

Light?

You know what light is.

Yeah, light, okay, well, um --

Now Badass Benny says it's straight when he packs it up for us, but between the time it leaves Badass with you carrying it in, it loses it's kick more and more every time.

Johnny B and Artie moved casually to positions behind Terry. Terry felt the blood draining right out of him. It was all he could do not to take a dump right there in his Goodwill chair. He was not sure what to say. He decided to try indignant, Fucking Badass is bullshitting you, man! He probably gives you a light load and figures you'll never know the difference. Now he’s trying to put the blame on me.

Badass swears it's you.

Terry shook his head, turning pale. No way, Caesar! No fucking way!

* * *

In the bathroom Nona was almost asleep in the tub when she heard Terry shouting on the other side of the door. It startled her. She moved the shower curtain a few inches and looked at the closed bathroom door, listening.

Terry shouted, That's bullshit, Caesar! 

Nona wondered what could make Terry shout at Caesar like that, especially because Terry was afraid of Caesar. Nona strained to hear.

* * *

That's fucking bullshit! Terry shouted angrily in the sincerest moral outrage he could feign, You known me since we were kids, Caesar, and now you say shit like that!

That's what I told Alex. I mean, goddamn, you and me, we played GI Joe together.

Suddenly Terry saw a chance.  He and Caesar had been friends for years. He might just talk his way out of this yet, and GI Joe just might save him. That's right, Terry said, Go Joe! Right. Remember?

Sure I remember.

Fucking Badass, man, Terry said, shaking his head in disdain, Motherfucker's trying to put his bullshit onto me, and that ain't right, Caesar. You can't let him get away with that. You need to straighten his ass out!

Caesar shook his head, That's what I told Alex.

Good, Terry said, thinking he might have just dodged an atom bomb.

But you know Alex, right, Caesar continued, Mr. Negativity. Always thinking the worst about people. Alex, says, 'Make sure, Caesar.'