Black Ice

By James Russell Allen

Black Ice, the almost invisible road hazard at night in a lonely place takes it’s toll. Tom, now lying on the snow next to his totaled Ford is sure he’s going to die. It’s cold and dark he can’t get his leg out of the car.The man, the one who stopped, is armed, a stranger, an unknown. What’s happening?
College—the place to learn, grow and prepare for life. For this co-ed, the University life includes the loss of both parents, a missing inheritance and a boyfriend who she recently lost contact with. What’s next?
Gayle, talking with her best friend says, “I need a miracle. My boyfriend vanished, my parents were killed and my money is about gone. By January, my chance for a degree will be gone as well. Do you have an idea?”
“Gayle, you’re smart. You have top grades. Go talk to a counselor and see if the school can help. Don’t give up.”
It is then that the Bolands find her. Corey and Sindala Boland, Private Investigators, give her a message and offer to help. She accepts.
That’s when the real problems begin.
“We have a new case here Bo. Let’s get with it,” Sindy says as she squeezes Gayle’s arm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Russell Allen
• Release date: Nov 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311051608

James Russell Allen

When I was introduced in a writing workshop and asked what I had been writing I responded; “As a CPA, I have been mostly writing financial reports and statements.” The professor’s response was; “Okay then, you are an experienced fiction writer.” Well, I don’t know about that, but I am satisfied to be writing when, where and what I want now. As a freshman in high school, I was placed into a class teaching speed reading. It was a challenge and results were shown almost daily. The readings, while we learned new techniques, were usually from the Reader’s Digest and we were timed and then tested for comprehension. I remember my speeds got up into the thousands of words per minute on some types of articles with over 90% comprehension. This probably began my love of reading. As an adult there was always a stack of books, usually three or more at hand. One year I decided to discover how many books I actually read for that year and it was seventy-two. When a person reads enough, he begins to make judgements about the authors and their writing approaches. It often instills the desire in many of us to try writing on our own. In 2007 I was waiting in a Doctor’s office, (Isn’t that what you are there for, the wait? Don’t they call it the “waiting room?”) when I noticed an article about the Amazon Kindle in Time magazine. I read it twice before I was invited in. By that evening I had ordered the Kindle for $399! I’ve never looked back. Our family room sported some custom made bookshelves filled with books, most of which I had read. I had read many of the Louis L’Amour books in paperback and collected them but one day my wife decided they were taking up too much space on the shelves so she contributed them to a library. Oh well, they are light reading and always entertaining if you are as familiar with the Southwest as I am. Now I can carry my current library in one or another of my electronic devices. The book world has changed, especially for those who are voracious readers. Many of us think we would like to write a book. When we learned about the difficulty and percentage of actually getting published it was, and still is daunting. Now you can write and publish a book yourself and the book can be done quickly and done to the highest standards if you are willing to pay the price in time and the learning required. You can also have paper copies of your book made for purchase on demand on several ebook sites and Amazon. So, being a retired CPA and seeing all of this develop over the past few years, that was the incentive to go forward with a book. With the cost of any e-reader now very affordable, more and more people have one. By the way, now with your device you have something better to do in the “waiting room.”

Book preview

BLACK

ICE

a story by

JAMES RUSSELL ALLEN

BLACK ICE

Published by James Russell Allen at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2014 James Russell Allen

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

ISBN-13:

TO THE HAPPY GIRL

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER STORIES

ONE

THE FORD IS dented and the passenger side is up against the pine tree with the right tires barely touching the snow. The night is ghostly under the cloud cover. Steam and vapors rise from the bent hood and under the pan. The driver’s door is partly open and a figure is struggling to crawl away from the car. He moans as his ungloved hand pulls to extricate himself from the wreckage.

I slip on my shoulder holster, check the magazine and exit our car in the slush and snow on the side of the road. In the circle of light from my flash light I see blood, dark as it drips from his light colored shirt onto the snow. He looks at me. I move the light across his body. I help him the rest of the way out of the car and lay him on the snow.

Sindy. I need some help, I say.

I can see that Bo, she says as she passes her own light over the scene.

She brings me a blanket...no two blankets from the back seat of our Honda. She returns to our car and puts on her down parka, zipping it quickly then hands me mine. Put it on Bo. We may be awhile.

Without a word she walks back to our car and retrieves the first-aid kit from the trunk.

Gently we move the young man onto a blanket laid alongside the car to a chorus of groans and gasps. I open his shirt and see the damage. A broken rib...at least one, maybe two. I can see a bone protruding from his side. Sindy hands me three pills and a paper cup part full from her Coke. Watching, he opens his mouth and I place the painkillers there. He drinks them down from the straw.

Thanks, he says.

Sindy covers the young man with the other blanket while I connect with the Highway Patrol out of Show Low, Arizona. I describe the accident, the location, and the need for medical help...preferably a helicopter as I walk the scene shining my light over the evidence left by the accident.

In the track of the Ford, I see the path of  oil...black, dirty oil...viscous and deep. The pan had hit a foot-high, pointed rock as the car spun toward the trees.

I squat beside him. Son, what’s your name.

Trembling, he says, It was an accident. I hit the ice.

Where are you from? I ask, sensing fear or pain, not certain which.

Horsely he groans out, I’m living in Flagstaff. I’m returning there after a visit to my Father in Eagar.

In my authoritative voice I ask, watching his face, What’s your name son?

Tom...Tom Reynolds, he says, feeling his side and the broken rib with his good hand.

Why were you driving so fast? Is someone after you?

The light