The Heat of Winter: Rick Stone, #4

By Kurt Maxwell

March, 1982. The not so mean streets of Newark Beach, Florida. Rick Stone is up against a new menace. His toughest opponent yet. Fortunately for Veronica Patterson he's great at jumping in without thinking about it first. Have some fun the next time you're forced to sit through a second-grade violin recital and check out this short, half-serious action adventure. Buy a copy of The Heat of Winter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gilbert Publishing
• Release date: May 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393402190

Book preview

Rick Stone pulled off Madison Blvd into the parking lot of the Sunshine Shopping Plaza just before ten in the morning. Someday the little palm trees scattered around the lot might be tall enough to provide shade. Right now they were pineapples with long leaves. Since there was no way right now to keep the car out of the hot sun, Stone pulled his 1968 gunmetal blue Chevelle into a parking spot right across from Harry’s Motorcycle Emporium.

He butted his cigarette out in the ashtray and turned off the engine, cutting Bobby Vee off in middle of the chorus of The Night has a Thousand Eyes. Climbing out he decided he didn’t need the windbreaker anymore. It had been chilly when he left his apartment that morning. But somebody had forgotten to tell the sun it was still February and a half hour ago he’d had to turn on the AC.

He shrugged the jacket off his long, slim frame, tossed it in the back seat and closed the door. Harry had been dodgy about what it was he wanted to talk about. He insisted he needed to talk to the private detective in person. Stone didn’t usually do business that way, but Harry was a friend. Besides, he didn’t have anything else going on this morning.

He glanced either way and crossed over and stepped up onto the walkway in front of the shop. A bell chimed when he opened the door and he was stepping inside when he heard glass breaking in the back.

Harry? Stone called, stepping inside.

A fat guy with a black beard, leather coat and blue jeans stepped out through the door behind the sales counter that led back to the shop where Harry did repair work. It was obvious this guy was a biker, or at least thought he was – they all wore the same uniform. Place is closed right now. The guy said.

Stone wondered why bikers insisted on wearing leather jackets when it was 90 degrees out. Sign says open. Stone said, letting the door close behind him.

Sign’s wrong. The bearded guy said, coming around from behind the counter. And you’re on the wrong side of the door.

Stone narrowed his eyes and called, Harry?

The only answer was another guy stepping out from the back. He was thin with dust-blonde hair and crazy eyes that reminded Stone of Jack Elam. He wore the same costume as the first guy. What’s going on out there, Hog?

Stone grinned when he heard the name.

Just a guy who needs to stop trying to stick his nose where it don’t belong.

Stone strode into the store. He wasn’t worried about Hog. The guy probably had fifty pounds on him, but Stone figured his swimmer’s build made him faster and he had