From a Place of Blood and Tears

By Jack O. Daniel

From a Place of Blood and Tears is a story that encompasses the depth of what love is and explores its many truths and layers.

Lt Kevin Russell is transferred to a backroom role following a diagnosis of Parkinson's Disease. The move from the NYPD's Major Case Squad to the Property Clerk Division is meant to give him job security away from the front line; one that would not present too many challenges. Little did he know that it would be the cause of his heartache and that of his family; his wife Shell and their three daughters.

The Property Clerk Division maintains and safeguards evidence of crimes including fifteen million worth of drugs scheduled for incineration.

Political fundraiser Craig Thorpe, the Fifth is desperate for money. The one person who could give it to him is Lt Kevin Russell, but he is not going to play ball.

So, their convictions collide and there is hell to pay.

Caught in the middle is Joe. In the process, what would he learn about himself?

Is there hope for any of them?

Would any of them come out unscathed of their places of blood and tears?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Massachusetts Books
• Release date: Feb 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386487944

Jack O. Daniel

Jack is an enigma.  He is an observer of people and a chronicler of life.

Book preview

1: Ally

‘I WAAAANT ICE CREAM .’

The youngest of the three Russell girls screamed at the top of her lungs as she threw an almighty tantrum. The four-year-old’s voice projection could put Kiwi soprano Kiri Te Kanawa to shame. So, unless something drastic happened, Ally Russell could be the next big opera star.

Shell, the super mom to three headstrong girls, had gone to the supermarket by herself. It was her once-a-month day out without Ally.

Today, it was Dad’s turn to oversee the house and the kid—not that tiny Ally minded; Daddy was often easier to deal with than Mommy.

Dad was Lieutenant Kevin ‘Kev’ Russell.

‘I WAAAANT ICE CREAM.’

Kev ignored the demanding three-year-old, deliberately. His attention was focused on fixing the family’s decade-old people mover. He didn’t like the sounds it had been making lately. For months, the brake had been making a nerve-cringing whining sound, and now, there was also an unfamiliar clanking noise coming from underneath the chassis.

Money had been extremely tight in the Russell household, so he has had to be the handyman, mechanic, babysitter, gardener, and occasional entertainer.

He had been a super fit, on-the-fast-track, thirteen-year police veteran; a beat cop who climbed the ranks until he became a Detective with the Major Case Squad. He loved being an investigator; it was his dream job. He loved the chase, the challenge, the mind games, and the smell of fear and sweat when they got close to catching a perp.

Though still a cop and a Lieutenant, now he was just a humble public servant in the Property Clerk Division in Brooklyn.

Nearly two years ago, he was reassigned when he was diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s Disease. There was little he could do about it. The Human Resources Manager said that a backroom role was the most suitable job for him under the circumstances. He had to agree.  His illness made working on the frontline untenable.

It was better than nothing and something to be grateful for. He had no choice about it anyway. He was in no position, in financial terms, to refuse the transfer even if he didn’t care for the role. Disability benefit wouldn’t have been enough to support a family of five.

His police retirement benefit would have been sufficient if he were retiring after twenty years of service. But alas, he was seven years short of the milestone.

Back in the old days, when he was a detective, no day was ever the same. These days, it was a daily grind of list this, file that, box this, and store that away.

Now, his tasks were repetitive and mundane. There was, however, some occasional excitement like when they opened an evidence box, and a humungous spider crept out followed by a multitude of baby crawlers. Even the bravest of them quickly found a way to get up on the table; only the hilarity that ensued lowered their hypertension.

Though the job was for the most part boring, his co-workers were a laugh-a-minute kind of people so at least he was lucky this way.

‘I WAAAANT ICE CREAM.’

It was Ally’s third attempt to get his attention.

Finally, he relented. He had to.

It’s more relaxing to be at work, he sighed.

Kev got out from under the vehicle determined to give the little one a well-deserved reprimand. Whenever Ally did this sort of performance, as Shell called it, she got lots of attention from her family and from the next-door neighbours on both sides, and even the dogs across the street. Sometimes her parents wondered if people thought they were belting her.

He went inside and followed the sound to the kitchen where he chanced upon Ally standing on a stool placed strategically in front of the refrigerator. Bags of frozen peas, corn, and broccoli, and boxes of readymade meals were on the floor.

Shell had purposely hidden the ice cream in the back of the freezer.

Kev looked at his youngest daughter who was a mini-Shell in all but temperament. Shell was sweet and sanguine, while Ally was sweet and choleric. She didn’t take any prisoners. If there was one born to lead from the front, it was this firebrand.

He crossed his arms over his chest and asked the bleeding obvious.

‘Exactly what are you doing, Ally?’

Her baby-blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she flashed a cute smile. The fast-thinking pre-schooler gave a ready answer.

‘I’m cleaning the fridge.’

Kev couldn’t believe it.

Ally was caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, but she wasn’t going to admit to any wrongdoing.

He wasn’t going to let her get away with it, however.

‘Ally, you know in your little head you were not cleaning the fridge.’

The little girl pursed her lips, crossed her arms over her chest mirroring her Dad’s stance.

‘Well, I was actually,’ then she paused for emphasis, ‘but if you give me a ice cream we’d have less to clean.’

Kev turned around casually to hide the smile that began to crack on his face. The logic was slightly skewed, but it made sense. He tried his best to hold it together, but Ally knew instinctively that she had the upper hand.

Changing tack, she asked demurely, ‘Can I please have a ice cream?’

The way she still says a before words that started with vowels melted his heart. It was a small thing, but it told him he still had a little girl; they all grew up so quickly.

‘Seriously, Ally, do you know how cold it is today? It’s so cold. It’s not the time for ice cream.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she insisted. ‘Every day is for ice cream.’

He sighed.

Whose rule was it anyway that children can’t have ice cream when it’s cold?

He put Ally down; then she helped pick up the frozen bags and boxes of food off the floor.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome,’ she replied, anticipating a reward.

Kev sat her down on the kitchen bench and handed her an ice cream cone. He took one for himself.

They were enjoying their treat when Ally piped up, ‘Dad, you are like this ice cream.’

‘How’s that?’ he asked, curious what his youngest was thinking now. Ally had been the surprise package of the family from the word go.

‘Cos, you are good for me.’

‘Thanks,’ he said with a crooked smile.

She followed this up with, ‘Can I call you Daddy Ice Cream?’

‘I’d like that.’

He mused to himself that he was indeed a Daddy Ice Cream in more ways than one. The main reasons being he was soft to his girls, his heart melted easily, and he tended to be sweet to all of them.

Their drumsticks gone, Kev asked Ally if she wanted to go to the park.

‘Yes, Daddy,’ she answered with a squeal.

They got on their bikes and cycled to the nearby park. His eyes, ears, and mind were on Ally. He didn’t notice a car parked across the street. It had been there since early this morning, since before his two elder daughters were collected by one of the parents in their carpool.

He didn’t notice the man sitting in the driver’s seat whose eyes were shielded by dark wrap-around shades. He especially didn’t note that the SUV had an interstate registration number.

It’s just the sort of thing nightmares were made of.

2: The Man

THE MYSTERIOUS MAN WATCHED THEM pedal merrily away on their bikes. He had been observing the surroundings and surveilling the house for a couple of hours now.

This was his first time to Laurelton. There were no modern high-rises in this part of New York. It was, rather, a cosy Queens borough that was all about a small-town residential feel.

One could only hope it stays this way; he thought as he waited for an opportunity to get inside the house.

On the drive over, he had passed a couple of places for rent. If he had his chance, he would rent or buy here. It would be a perfect place to raise a family or retire, although those two things were not part of his plans, now or in the near future.

Laurelton, he discovered was his sort of place. Quiet. It was so quiet in fact that there weren’t any nightlife hot spots. But though it was far removed from exciting things, it still had a train station with lines running through Queens to Brooklyn and Manhattan, and it was just north of JFK Airport.

When he could no longer see Kev and Ally in his rear-view mirror, he casually got out of the vehicle and walked towards the house carrying an attaché case. Any nosy neighbours would think he was someone returning from a business trip; this was why he did his kind of job in a suit.

It didn’t matter what time of day it is, a businessman coming home was far less conspicuous.

The house, he was certain, was unoccupied.

He’d seen the two older girls in their public-school uniforms leave at eight-a.m.; followed by their mother half an hour later. And just then, the last two occupants had cycled away.

The Rottweiler across the street had been barking intermittently, yet no barking reply came from the Russell’s residence. He ascertained that the family didn’t have a pet dog—this reduced potential complication to nil.

He required at least an hour to do what he came to do. He surmised that Kev and Ally were off to the park, or maybe to a corner shop. Whatever they intended to do, he was sure that he would have plenty of time.

Over several years, he had developed a sixth sense of timing doing what he did for a living

. He had never been caught out. And, even if they were to come back unexpectedly, he was sure-footed enough to get the hell out without leaving a trace.

To his experienced eyes, the double