The Incident: a novella

By Michael Bronte

When Tom Slater and his eight-year-old son walk to their car after seeing a New Jersey Devils hockey game, they are accosted by two loudmouths who were sitting near them during the game. The loudmouths try to rob Slater, but he fights back, inadvertently killing one of the attackers. Slater is subsequently arrested and charged with manslaughter. Enter Sidney Diamond, the flashy female attorney who maintains that the only way for Slater to save himself from being convicted is for young Nolan to testify, he being the only eyewitness as to what really happened. Slater and his wife will have nothing of it. See what happens as Slater tries to protect his son from reliving this traumatic experience, while also trying to avoid a multi-year prison sentence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Bronte
• Release date: Dec 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393276777

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The Incident

It was their thirtieth reunion and the brothers of Zeta Chi had come in from all over to attend. One of them is found dead but the authorities won't investigate due to lack of evidence of foul play. The brothers say, If you won't investigate, we will, and the investigation leads them to a confrontation with international terrorists.

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The Incident

by

Michael Bronte

Chapter 1

The Hockey Game

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Okay buddy, do you remember where we parked the car?

Level 5, row D, Nolan said proudly. I told you I’d remember.

Nolan was eight, and we’d just spent the last three hours watching the New Jersey Devils trounce the New York Rangers at the Prudential Center. The Devils won for a change. It had been a tough season for them so far, despite the fact that they’d made the playoffs the year before. It was Kids Appreciation Night, and Nolan had wanted to get an autograph from Rurik Olsen, his favorite hockey player. As such, we were late getting to the parking garage, and most of the cars were already gone. We were the only ones standing at the elevator.

Go ahead and push the button, I said to Nolan, and he stepped up and pushed button number five, his finger still stained with barbeque sauce from the chicken fingers we’d eaten. How about we put that hockey stick with Rurik’s autograph up on the wall in your bedroom? I asked. Would you like that? I’ll bet your friend Derrick will be jealous.

"He’ll be so jealous, Nolan agreed. This is so cool."

Derrick had better be jealous, I thought. That stick had cost me thirty bucks, which was one of the reasons I’d parked in this particular parking garage. It was a little bit of a hike from the Prudential Center, but the parking fee was only ten bucks at night as opposed to thirty-five in the lots near the arena. Between the tickets, the tolls, the hockey stick, hat, and food, I’d already hit the two-hundred-dollar mark, but it was worth it. Nolan would remember this for a long time.

What do we say? I asked, raising my hand for a high five.

Rangers stink! Nolan exclaimed, high fiving in return.

We heard a ding, and the elevator doors parted. Stepping in, I put my arm around Nolan and pressed him to me. I wish my dad had had the time to do more things with me, but being a long-haul trucker from South Jersey meant he spent a lot of hours on the road just trying make ends meet, too many hours to form the type of relationship I was trying to form with Nolan. We ate a lot of Hamburger Helper at my house when I was a kid.

The doors were just about to close when a hand flew through the crack and they sprang back. I immediately recognized the two scruffy dudes who stepped into the elevator, one black, one white, one of them wearing a filthy green jacket, the other wearing oil-stained jeans that looked like they’d never seen the inside of a washing machine. Both of them caught my glance and turned their backs to us to face the elevator doors. They looked at each other for a moment and started laughing.

The one in the filthy green jacket, the white one, said to his partner, Look, it’s the asshole from the third row and his little asshole kid. They both laughed some more.

Excuse me? I snapped. There was no doubt he was talking about us.

Mister green jacket turned, the greasy hair that hung at chin length catching on the patchy stubble on his face. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as it inundated the whole elevator.

You were turning around and staring at us the whole fuckin’ game. What was your problem, mister?

I looked down at Nolan and I could see his eyes widen. I pulled him in behind me and looked at the elevator panel, noticing the number three light up. It’s alright, Son, I said to him as calmly as I could. Inside, I was boiling. We’ll be out of here in a minute. The doors parted and we wedged our way through the blockade the two jackasses had formed. We stepped out onto the landing, and they stepped out right behind us.

I asked you a question, asshole. What was your fuckin’ problem?

The one doing the talking, mister green jacket, was about my height, six-one, maybe six-two, on the scrawny side, with sunken cheeks and blazing eyes. The black dude was shorter, but not much, and thick, his shoulders wide and heavy on his body. It looked like he was content to let mister green jacket do the talking, but he was staring me down with his ghetto glare. My problem... I said in a voice that wasn’t confrontational, but it wasn’t submissive either. Animals like these two could smell fear.