Angel of Mercy

By Jason A. Adams

In a time of jazz and bootleg liquor, death stalks New Orleans.

Captain Ted Mooney of the NOPD loves his city, and hates those who make trouble for its citizens.

In the alleys and flophouses, people keep dying in suspicious ways.

Ted must root out the cause of these mysterious deaths.

And he must face a difficult question:

Who decides right and wrong?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason A. Adams
• Release date: Aug 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393846222

Jason A. Adams

Jason A. Adams grew up in various Air Force towns, but Southwest Virginia has always been his homeplace. His military brat childhood exposed him to exotic locales, fascinating people from around the world, and a lifetime curiosity that informs his fiction.Jason is the author of many short stories based in and around the Virginia coalfields he lives in and loves. He currently lives on a forest mountain with assorted beasties, and his beautiful and talented wife, Kari Kilgore, also a writer of many wonderful stories.Find out more at www.jasonadams.info, where you can sign up for information on upcoming releases, and the occasional update from The Brain Squirrels.For all works released by Spiral Publishing, including Kari's many fantastic stories and non-fiction by Frank Kilgore, check out www.spiralpublishing.net.

Book preview

Angel of Mercy

For Kari, who talked me into giving this writing thing a try.

Angel of Mercy

Jason A Adams

Spiral Publishing, Ltd.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Jason

Also by Jason A Adams

1

March 23, 1917 – Arras, France

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The dank ward stank of urine, feces, sweat, ammonia, infection—the assorted reeks of a body that didn’t know it should be dead.

Gray tunnels carved from the living granite stretched away to the edges of the incredible underground city which protected the Allied soldiers in this hospital where so many of them wept and died. The corridors and rooms had once been electrified, but were lit now by the smoky yellow flames of kerosene lanterns, dancing from time to time with the tremors caused by the massive barrages along the Western Front, felt deep in the bones even from ten miles away. The electric had proved too unreliable, so wires and Edison bulbs had been removed somewhere else. Where, the dead neither knew nor cared.

A woman sat beside one of the stained cots, holding the occupant’s clammy, unresponsive hand, the only part of the poor soldier not broken and bloody. She stroked it, softly crooning