Cold Deck

By Jack Frost

Private investigator Jake Coleman continues his struggle against the quagmire of Louisiana politics and mob ties to the gambling industry. As he works with childhood friend Trey McNeely in his quest to become governor on a platform of reforming gambling, Jake loses a close connection to his past. Even with the loss, the fight must go on with the help of his friend Gator and his fiancée Monique.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Class Act Books
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015

Book preview

Cold Deck

A Jake Coleman Mystery

by

Jack Frost

Published by

CLASS ACT BOOKS

121 Berry Hill Lane

Port Townsend, Washington 98368

www.classactbooks.com

Copyright  2015 by Jack Frost

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-938703-72-0

Credits

Cover Artist: Simon Nightingale

Editor: Anita York

Copy Editor: Mallory York

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Mary

Love of my Life

Cold Deck: a stacked deck which is deceptively switched with the original deck of cards in play—to the benefit of the player/dealer making the switch. The term refers to the fact that the cards in the stacked deck often are literally colder to the touch than those of the original deck due to transfer of body heat from the fingers to the cards.

—http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cold_deck

Prologue

Monique and I relaxed on a pleasant Sunday afternoon in her backyard in lounge chairs under a canopy, iced lemonade by our sides. We traded sections of the Alexandria Daily Town Talk and the Sunday edition of the New York Times. It had been a week since Mo was kidnapped by mobsters from the New Orleans area. My friend Gator and I, along with some of his cronies, rescued her and the time since had been one of reflection and relaxation.

It began with a phone call from General Cornelius McNeely, Jr. in the nearby town of Colfax, asking my help in determining the source of photographs hinting his son’s wife was the subject in a pornographic display. His son was a childhood friend who was thinking of running for governor on an anti-gambling platform. The General and I had a mutual history that said neither of us could refuse the other a favor.

More years ago than I care to remember, I had taken the responsibility of a traffic accident on a teenage prom night involving a fatality that should have been placed on his son. For assuming the blame, the General made certain the charges were dropped and provided financial support for my mother while I joined the army and did twenty years in the service. I retired and returned to my home territory and opened an office as a private investigator.

The son, Cornelius McNeely III, known as Trey, went on to the US Military Academy at West Point. The elder McNeely had a distinguished WWII service record and led the Louisiana National Guard for years and thus earned the honorific title of General. His family plantation just outside Colfax had been there since before the Civil War.

While investigating the photograph in the seamier side of New Orleans, my best friend, confident, and protector, Gator, and I stepped on some toes of local mobsters who controlled the porno industry there. It seemed the mob-connected Marinello family not only had the porno industry, but also had their fingers in the gambling pie across the state of Louisiana.

With New Orleans District Attorney Trey McNeely making anti-gambling waves, they tried to put pressure on General McNeely and that’s how Gator and I found ourselves knee-deep in mobsters.

The same Marinello family arranged Monique’s kidnapping after they connected her to me, hoping I would expose myself in getting her back from the swamps of southwest Louisiana where I, along with Mo, would meet our final destinations. That was thwarted as Gator and I, and some pals of his, raided an antebellum mansion near New Orleans where Monique was being held, killing all guarding her.

Just as I was to take Mo out of the hospital after her ordeal and drive back to Alexandria, the FBI had a chat with me, warning that I was messing with one of their investigations concerning the Marinello family. I was told to back off.

I did, as I cared for Mo’s safety and I felt I had properly investigated the request about the photograph for General McNeely. By the time I departed New Orleans with Mo for a much needed rest in Alexandria, Gator stayed behind and his actions, unbeknownst to me, drew us back into a web of crime and violence. I thought back to the night I left Gator behind and wondered what happened…

Chapter 1

Anthony Marinello lived in an upscale neighborhood near Lake Pontchartrain between Kenner and Metairie. It was a gated community with limited access. His home was a rambling ranch style structure with a swimming pool overlooking a lake. The pool actually intruded into the master bedroom. Anthony often stripped naked, stepped into the indoor pool, swam under the back wall, and emerged in the outside one. His wife and children lived in a community across the lake, like a family apart.

The house had the latest security devices and his driver/bodyguard was ever on alert.

The attached garage held two latest model Mercedes-Benz: an SL55 convertible and a C class luxury. The sports model was for weekend excursions while the luxury was for business.

Gator skirted the hedges of nearby houses until he was standing outside the garage. The night covered his actions as he used a pry bar to remove the molding holding the small window in the side wall of the garage. Thinking a window firmly in place was no threat, the security company hadn’t hooked it into the main anti-theft system. Using two small suction cups, Gator removed the window and placed it on the ground. His biceps strained as he lifted himself through the opening and gently settled onto the concrete floor.

Pulling up two muslin sacks from outside, he set them beside the Mercedes-Benz luxury vehicle.

It took him ten minutes to complete his mission.

Gator went back through the opening, taking the now empty sacks, replacing the window and securing the molding with fast-drying glue. He paused to place the sacks in front of the garage door. He then melted into the darkness.

~ * ~

On the morning of the day Mo and I were in Alexandria planning our activities, Anthony Marinello awoke and had a breakfast of toast and jam, orange juice, cereal and coffee. He ate wearing only his shorts and was sweating lightly from a workout on his exercise bike. Anthony was proud of his body and worked to keep it in shape. Women like Miss Jamison appreciated a man who took care of himself.

Marinello showered, dressed, and called to his driver.

Time to go, Lou. I’ve a meeting with the boys about this asshole who rescued that woman and killed eight of my men. His ass is mine.

Sure, Boss. Everything is ready.

The two men crossed the living room area to a side door leading to the garage. Lou pressed a button and the garage door crawled upward. He saw the sacks.

Go ahead, Boss, and get in. The wind must’ve blown something in front of the door. I’ll move it.

Make it snappy. Marinello opened the rear door and climbed in. It was the last order he’d give.

Later Lou described hearing screams and seeing Marinello in the back seat, wildly flapping his arms. He’d shake when he told the story of blood-curdling yells as Marinello shouted for help.

When Lou opened the back door, Marinello’s eyes were about to pop out of his skull. He beat at something on the seat. Lou thought he saw a long rope or a chain moving toward Marinello again and again.

Oh, God! Get me outta here! Marinello screamed. Get me outta here now!

Marinello tried to climb into the front seat, then came back hitting at something that moved so quickly it was hard to see. Lou grabbed one of Marinello’s arms and pulled him from the car onto the garage floor where his boss writhed in agony and screamed until his voice was hoarse. Marinello’s face was covered with red blotches and he was scratching so hard blood streamed from the cuts.

Call a doctor! Marinello begged. Get me into the house. Call a doctor!

Marinello’s men later examined the car. Three cottonmouth moccasins were found hiding under the front seats, along with thousands of fire ants. When Anthony Marinello stepped in, he placed a foot on one of the snakes and as he reached to steady himself, he disturbed a large mound of dirt that came alive with angry ants. Both actions caused two of Nature’s most dangerous creatures to attack him with vengeance.

Technically, snakes are not poisonous, they are venomous. Cottonmouths inject a venom which is hemotoxic and potent. The victim has intense pain where bitten and the skin there becomes discolored. As the venom hits the circulatory system there can be hemorrhaging, internal organ breakdown and destruction of blood cells. The victim becomes dizzy and nauseous, starts to sweat, and begins to feel a numbness around the mouth.

If treated in time, fatalities are rare. Anthony Marinello was bitten seven times.

Red ants, or fire ants as they are commonly called, bite and inject a toxic venom. The stung area swells into a bump that turns into a white pustule. The urge to scratch can’t be ignored so infection often sets in. Anthony Marinello had hundreds of fire ant bites on his hands and face and some of the ants had gotten inside his clothing.

Instead of calling a doctor, Lou called 911. Within twenty minutes, EMTs loaded a gasping and scratching Anthony Marinello into the ambulance and started an IV. On the way to the hospital, Marinello’s heart stopped twice. Both times they resuscitated him with zaps of electricity. As they placed him in an emergency treatment room at the same Metairie hospital where Mo had been treated, his heart stopped for the third and last time. He was pronounced dead at 9:32 AM.

In time the coroner’s report would indicate Marinello had died from venom similar to that inflicted by a snake common to the swamps and marshes around the area.

By the time law enforcement officers inspected the Mercedes-Benz, it had been cleared of snakes and fire ants. Their report didn’t specifically say how Marinello had come into contact with a venomous snake or the fire ants.

His next of kin were notified and the body released for burial.

Chapter 2

Coleman! yelled the speaker at the other end of my cell phone. Where in Hell are you at this moment?

Whoever this is…I’m sitting in the middle of the Alexandria Zoo enjoying the afternoon breeze.

This is Special Agent Schwartz. Anthony Marinello’s dead and I suspect you had something to do with it.

I can’t say I’m unhappy with the news, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. When and how did he die?

He had some sort of seizure this morning from what the coroner says is snake venom.

Agent Schwartz, I’ve been in Alexandria for several hours. I drove straight here and I haven’t left. I have plenty of witnesses to prove it, so if there is nothing else…

I warned you about interfering with our investigation, Coleman. Apparently Schwartz wasn’t listening. "If I find you were involved in this, I’ll have your ass and your license. Where’s that partner of yours?"

I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask him when you find him. He and I have different offices in different cities.

I heard a loud grunt and the connection went dead. I smiled as I put away the cell phone.

What was that all about? Mo asked.

Anthony Marinello’s dead. That was an FBI agent who’s head of a task force looking into the Marinello family and their mob connections. Just before I drove home with you, he warned me of further contact with the Marinellos. He’s not a happy agent.

How did that skunk die? From his own smell?

"Apparently he died