The Good, the Bad, and the Bet

By Miriam Matthews

Ex Navy SEAL and a decorated hero, Dan drifted through life until he found an anchor named Della and a reason to live. He loved her from the moment they met but two things stood in the way of happily ever after - a dangerous bet and a drug lord willing to win at any cost. Would Dan lose the bet and everything he cared about...or could he pull off the crime of the century to guarantee his family’s future and their ultimate safety?

Della was never prepared for the hand life dealt her. A young widow with a daughter to raise, her world spun completely out of control when Dan Cooper gambled his way into her heart. All of a sudden a hit man was babysitting and she was planning her wedding! However, the question remained, could she trust Dan and his secrets? She’d fallen for an officer and a gentleman but how could she spend the rest of her life with a criminal?

Days before he became the infamous DB Cooper, Della became his wife. Would their love survive? Would they survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miriam Matthews
• Release date: Jun 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301294527

Miriam Matthews

I was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest but knew Alaska would be my heart's home as soon as I stepped off that plane way back in the early 1980's. I saw the mountains and that was it! I love all the things that make living in Alaska so appealing: fishing, flying, skiing, hunting and long winter nights. A pilot myself, many of my stories involve aviation, strong female characters and the cultures and legends of my wild, untamed Alaska. I believe strong female characters provide a rich backdrop for hot romance, and give young girls a sense of what women can really do! My life has been a series of exciting adventures and I like to use what I have learned and experienced in my novels.Now, (after my third try at retirement!) I am a full time Indie author. My First book, The Good, The Bad and the Bet, came out in the summer of 2014, and The Ghost of Port Chicago came out in 2015. They are both romantic suspense novels based on historical events. I am excited to announce the first book in my new series about a secret government anti-terrorist group of female vampires is now available with more in the series under development. Watch for The Vamp Squad Series: Book 1 – Strange Beginnings at most of your digital provider, or order a hard copy through CreateSpace and Amazon.When I’m not writing, I can be found teaching women’s self defense seminars and martial arts, scuba diving in tropical locals, flying to meet my husband for a quick rendezvous in some romantic out-of-the-way spot, playing with graphic design... or just kicking back with my stories and enjoying this thing we call life.You can always catch up with me, or join my Intel Team on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/miriam.matthews.773

Book preview

The Good, the Bad, and the Bet

The Most Probable, Practically Real, True Story of DB Cooper

By Miriam Matthews

Published by Miriam Matthews at Smashwords

Edition 6.2013.v1

Copyright 2013 Miriam Matthews

Fictional Romance - Heat Level 3 (Heat Scale 1-5 where 5 = Erotica)

Thank you for purchasing and downloading this ebook. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoyed this book, then encourage your friends to purchase and download their own copy.

Although based on a historical event, this book is a work of fiction. and any reference to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely for the purpose of enhancing the story. The main characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Dedication

First and always, my appreciation for my husband, Timothy’s love, support and encouragement, (not to mention editing and pestering!) are forever valued above all else. You are my partner in life and hold my soul safe in your heart.

To the ladies and gentleman of the Alaska Romance Writers of American, thank you is such a small word for the years of support, critiquing, encouragement, brainstorming, etc. I love you all!

To my cold readers, especially the wonderful and talented Michelle Thomas, my special buddy Julia Hunter and the marvelous Cherry Adair who first said, Just write the damn book!, I could not have done this without you. I sure could not have done this without your eyes and brains.

And lastly… to my crazy, loveable uncle. Only he knows why!

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Author’s Notes on DB Cooper

Coming Soon! The Ghost of Port Chicago

About Miriam Matthews

Connect With Miriam Matthews

The Most Probable, Practically Real, True Story of DB Cooper

Chapter 1

It was a long time ago, and like most old people remembering our youth, it seems to me like it was just yesterday. I wouldn't even have dredged up the whole mess had it not been for Timmy and his darn high school journalism class. But I couldn't let my grandson, his grandson, live with the lies.

At first Timmy laughed at me when I told him the story, the true story. Then, when he finally began to believe, he stopped laughing. Anymore, he doesn't ask about it every time the case comes up in the news, or when something about the hijacking hits the media for all of five seconds. For heaven sakes, it was more than forty years ago. Of course, when it happened the media couldn't get enough air time, the world drew up sides and the law enforcement agencies combed five states. They never got it right though. They never even got close to right.

But I did. After all, it was my life just as much as it was the media's circus.

I remember everything about it, about him. I remember everything that happened just like it was yesterday…

January 1971

I was late for work and knew I was going to get fired. It was the third time in as many weeks and the floor boss didn't have any sympathy for a single mother with a toddler. MaryAnn was late to the apartment again and I couldn't very well leave my Katie home alone, for Pete’s sake she wasn’t even two years old. It was bad enough to leave her with a nineteen year old. Damn unreliable teenagers, I thought back then, but MaryAnn grew up into a fine young woman, a lawyer of all things. Of all things! But that's not really important to this story.

I hit the service entrance at a run and almost dumped the fry cook on her ass. Her pan of crispy haddock literally flew through the air and landed on my chest as if it had targeted my clean white uniform shirt like a heat seeking missile. One overly grease-laddened piece half lodged in my bow tie soaking most of my left breast with hot dripping saturated fat and salt. As each piece slid from my ample chest it marked its way to the floor with a shiny streak, like the slime trail of a slug.

Great…

If Jonesy didn't can me for being late, I was sure to be fired for working the floor in a stained and filthy blouse. In those days Las Vegas was teaming with high rollers who wanted to drop money like it was going out of style and the Lady Luck Casino demanded service to perfection for its guests. The gals like me who worked the floor and the private rooms had to be perfect or they were gone. The employment office above the gambling floor was always filled with someone prettier or faster who was willing to do most anything for a job. Especially when the place was full of eligible millionaires and the likes of Hollywood gentlemen on the make. Anything really meant anything. Like I said, it was a long time ago. That kind of thing would never be tolerated today. In fact it would be downright illegal. Times change, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.

A busy Wednesday evening it was. How could I forget? It was the night that almost ruined my life ... and made my future.

Just about the time the last piece of fish slimed it's way to the floor, Jonesy came busting through the swinging doors hollering at the top of his lungs. I need a blonde waitress. Now!

Jonesy never called us by our names. That would have meant we were human. We were just the blonde, or the redhead, or the gal with the big tits.

You. He pointed to me. Get your cute ass out there and... His eyes made contact with my chest about the same time his feet made contact with what was left of the deep-fried fish on the floor. He slid under me like some choreographed stunt in a shoot-em up spaghetti western and I plopped down on top of him right on cue. Well, we sorta went down together in one fell swoop. It was a mess and a disaster all rolled into one greasy mess. It would have been comical except he ended up with my chest straddling his face just below his bulging blue eyes, a straining button pressing the tip of his nasty pointy nose. My mini skirt rode so far up my ass I was sure God and everybody had a great peep show that night. In retrospect I am sure no one even noticed. My panties weren't green with dollar signs and dollar signs were all that mattered at the Lucky Lady.

Lodged on top of my boss on the greasy floor I caught sight of Helena bursting through those same swinging doors looking like a pack of ravenous wolves were snapping at her tail. Boss, they want more booze and something to eat. The ante is over seven hundred thousand.

Pull someone from the game floor, stupid. He unceremoniously dumped me on the floor in the ruined fish and grease. You, out!! He didn't have to point or even look in my direction. Everyone in the room knew exactly who he was talking about.

Wait boss, we're shorthanded tonight. Libby didn't show up and Caroline is sick. Helena's hands flapped in the air as if she was trying to fly away, anywhere away from the hateful glare of the floor boss.

Shit! I need a broad in that room. Alvarez is hot for blonde types. Jonesy was more mumbling to himself than anyone in the kitchen. He spun on me as I tried to stand, slipping and sliding toward the sink in search of a hand hold to pull myself upright. You have any clean clothes?

I had long blonde hair tied up in a mass of curls at the back of my head. It was a cute do of the times, you know, big hair of the early 70s. Maybe there was hope to salvage my job. Yes sir. He liked being called sir. We usually called him anything but sir unless we were kissing up.

Get changed. I don't care what you wear as long as it's sexy and clean. He tore off his filthy jacket, grabbed a serving apron and crashed through the doors like a caged man on a 24 hour pass.

Finally upright once more I eyed Helena. She waved me on with more flapping and I ran for my car and the only change of clothes I had: shiny black satin tights and a white clingy tank top. I took the wide leather and crystal studded belt off the soiled skirt I’d been wearing and cinched it tightly around my waist. I had a pretty small waist then and it accentuated my well-endowed chest. On the way back inside I managed to tie the uniform bow around my neck. It would have to do and from the reflection in the glass serving window it looked to do just fine. Whoever this Alvarez was, the man would be happy with what he saw. For me that translated into tips, big tips which translated into groceries for me and Katie.

Inside, Helena winked as I flew by. You are cute as a bug's ear honey. The Sinatra Room. Five high rollers. This is gonna be your night. She followed close on my heels rattling off a list of drinks I was expected to take in. Make enough for the house tonight and maybe, just maybe Jonesy won't kick you to the curb.

Helena and I started out together and I liked the wait staff manager. I was more than willing to hustle if it kept me employed. I'll mix if you can put up a load. It was my turn to wink. A load was the complimentary food provided for gamblers to keep them at the tables and involved in games. High rollers could order anything they wanted and the kitchen would bend over backwards to fix it right up. The kitchen staff had even been known to order out a time or two for our special clientele.

You got it honey. Helena was already half way back to the kitchen.

That night and into the next morning I slung five loads and poured close to thirty rounds. It was an amazing night. The booze flowed and so did the money. It was the biggest night me and the Lucky Lady ever had.

And it was the night I met the gang; Julio Alvarez, Manny Silva, Vito Rizzo, Shorty Stockton and him, the man the world came to know as DB Cooper, the man I knew simply as Dan.

****

Chapter 2

I delivered the first round of drinks that night around seven thirty. The Sinatra Room was a gaudy den that appealed to the kind of men who sat in its Rhino hide chairs drinking five hundred dollar bottles of fifty-year-old booze, smoking Cubans and upping the ante. In those days the ante grew with the egos of the guys playing. Playing cards was more about being loaded than being smart and I got to know these particular guys pretty darn well in the months that followed.

The ante. That's what started it all. Manny could never let it go. Julio would get a little behind on the kitty and make some outrageous statement that Manny always tried to go one better. Vito would challenge them both and the ante would shoot through the roof. Shorty didn't mind betting his earnings but never his life. He was a pilot and knew how precious and tenuous life could be. Of course, given enough alcohol and two feet soundly planted on the ground, Shorty could be as outrageous and as stupid as the other men he just had limited capital.

Julio wasn't the best poker player and about four in the morning that first night he was so far behind the others he just had to make some crazy bet. Now you have to know these particular gamblers to understand why Dan did what he did. It was complicated and more than a little stupid but it was all about being brothers and never losing face.

See, Dan was Manny's brother. Not the blood kind because despite what they say about blood being thicker than water, blood kin don't hold a candle to swim buds. Dan and Manny had both been Navy SEALS but for very different reasons. Yet they went through BUDS together and became fast friends. All that hero stuff and came back alive. Manny got out to set the family business straight, or as straight as the favorite son of an established mob family could. Coming home a decorated SEAL, his father finally forgave him for enlisting. Manny’s number came up, his draft number. You see, back in the Viet Nam era there was the draft for all young men and when your number came up you had to go in the Army. Enlisting gave you some choice. Still, Manny was a changed man after the Navy and he had his own ideas about the future of his family business. Eventually he did good by his old man’s money. Dan, well he enlisted to spite his brother, the Army Ranger. Competing throughout their childhood, Dan just had to go one better than his older sibling and the only thing better than a Ranger was a SEAL, at least to a Navy man. When he got out, he drifted from one oil rig to another, flew a little, did a little diving here and there and basically floated through life. Until that night. That night he grabbed hold of an anchor and never let go. He grabbed onto me.

Julio Alvarez, he was a bad one, that man, but the Las Vega set loved his products. That made him an incredibly powerful and rich man. If you could drink it, snort it or fuck it, Julio was your connection. He made millions off movie stars, models and addicts alike. No one was too little to hook or roll. And if you played and couldn't pay, you just disappeared – sometimes quietly, sometimes not so quietly if Julio needed to make a lesson for others. He had a real castle across the border in Nogales built on the bones of those who were dumb enough to short change the Grand Dealer. That's what he used to call himself, only in Spanish. Back then the border was pretty much open and Julio came and went as he pleased. And he always pleased Las Vegas.

I really liked Vito Rizzo and, at the time, thought he was a distinguished gentleman. Twenty years later he went to prison for murder but even on his way to maximum security he walked like a real gentleman in a fifteen hundred dollar suit and flash patent leather shoes. He actually tipped me with hundreds and never once copped a feel. That was more than I can say for his friends, all except Dan. Dan was a gentleman from the beginning.

Shorty's story was different. Shorty Stockton owned an executive flight service he'd built up from a two-plane business. He earned his money the hard way, the honorable way. He didn't really fit in with the high rollers but they staked him on a regular basis. He was their ride home. He was their ride to wherever they wanted to go whenever they wanted to go.

Then there was Dan. Dan Cooper the quiet ex-Navy SEAL who always covered Manny's ass. Dan the sweet fellow who made sure I had a ride home after the marathon poker game that night. The man who fell in love with my Katie the first time he laid eyes on her sitting there with pizza sauce all over her face and stringy cheese smeared through her hair.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, telling too much too soon and I want this story to be right, the way it actually happened.

That night Julio was in the hole by about half a million. Nothing to him really but he was getting razzed by the others and he was looking real mean. The kind of mean that made people die. I'd just brought out a load, good shit; caviar, cheese from Holland and some kind of spread that looked like cat food and smelled even worse, pat- something-or-other. There was more booze than should have been allowed in one room and the crackers were flying across the table like poker chips as the men compared stories and bet each other outrageous things. Most of the time it was good natured fun. Most of the time.

I remember there was a lull in the conversation as they toasted Vito's prospects for some big job that would pay him an insane amount of money which he would then lose to Julio. Apparently they were all regulars at the Lucky Lady. Julio had just bet Manny he could make ten million on a single shipment of some illegal substance. When it was Manny's turn to be macho-stupid his blank stare was an adequate indicator of his better judgment, or drunken stupor, I wasn't sure which one at the time but it didn't matter, his fellow SEAL had his back. Dan cleared his throat and held his glass out. Banging against the side with a fork, the others all turned and waited.

I waited. What could trump ten mil in drug money? A million was a colossal amount of money back then, not like today where the