Puget Chase

By Tim Barney

Davis Jefferson, known to his friends as Deej, lives on Bainbridge Island in Puget Sound off the coast of Washington. Hes a good natured, well-meaning guy with tons of friends. He wishes the best for everyone, which is why hes friendly when newcomer Deirdre arrives in town with her young son Jimmy, all the way from Manhattan.

However, Deirdre has a dark secret. She didnt move for a change of scenery; she moved to escape a dangerous past. Shes hoping to run from regret and find freedom in her new home, but the past has a way of coming back. Deej just happens to be in the right (or wrong) place at the right time and becomes embroiled in Deirdres troubles.

The hunt for revenge is on. Deej and Deirdre have to dodge kidnappers and murderers in a world of misdeeds and gambling. Luckily, the small Puget Sound community bands together to protect their own, so ordinary folks and a troupe of war veterans team up to fight some angry mobsters in the hopes of good conquering all thats evil.

A compelling action-intensive thriller that examines the idea which mankind ultimately seeks and needs--to be seen and understood and for others to take us as we are. This riveting tale highlights the fight between good and evil and the gray area that lies between as Barneys characters struggle for the things that matter most to them--family, honoring thy self, and love.

--Melissa Toomey

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Feb 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480825796

Tim Barney

tim barney is an avid reader who decided to try his hand at writing. A native of Ohio, he travels often and fell in love with the beauty of the Pacific Northwest where Puget Chase is based. His next novel will take place in the coastal Lake Erie region.

Book preview

# 1

H e looked up and wondered how long he had been sitting there, feeling like; like tomorrow was a century away. How had he lost track of what was really important? The sweat started rolling down his forehead, pits, crotch, oh hell what had he done? Then the silence was broken with gunfire, weapons and lots of them. He retreated to an alcove in the boulders beneath the rim of the bluff, pinned down. They were closing in, he awoke totally drenched. He sat up and ran his hand through his black curly hair. This was the same nightmare he'd had since that night in Afghanistan. Fuck the Taliban.

# 2

L ike usual, my good friend Sheila was having the gang over to watch football, and I was to do the cooking (we always took turns, and it was my lucky day). She had called earlier to ask me to pick up some beer and wine and to get some smokes for her. Ah, this is the life, I thought while sitting on the couch as I told her about the morning's excitement.

"I came out of the IGA with some bottled Budweiser, a few bottles of Chardonnay, Riesling, and Gewürztraminer and a couple packs of Marlboros for you; doggone I wish you'd would quit smoking.

Anyway, I wasn't two steps out of the building when I heard this horrible scream to my left. I jerked my head and saw this gorgeous little brunette screaming, running into the woods, arms flailing, feet slipping, running as best she could as she tried with all her might to catch the shadow of a giant man (or at least it seemed) running away from her heading deep into the woods, carrying her son.

What could I do? Of course I dropped my shit and hauled ass.

I was just getting to the edge of the lot when I passed her as he disappeared down a ravine. As I got there, I looked down, saw he went left, and bolted after him and took a hard cut then promptly busted my ass, as I toppled head over heels straight down, tumbling, rolling, sliding forty yards the wrong way .

I finally stopped and looked up to see him topping the next hill. Picking myself up as fast as I could, I found high gear and started closing the distance fast. He was large and powerful-looking but wasn't moving as fast as I was. I mean Jesus the guy had a kid to carry too. He was about 400 hundred yards in front of me when he suddenly stopped, set down the crying boy, and sat on a fallen spruce.

He hadn't looked back once, odd I thought. I slowed and began a creeping pace to make as little noise as possible so not to tip him off that I was onto him. He seemed to be trying to comfort the crying boy.

I was in the initial stage of lunging onto his back when he turned and swatted me aside like a rag doll. Was it instinct or just pure dumb luck? Either way, I crashed into a Douglas fir, hitting my shoulder hard.

Pain instantly coursed through my entire right side, immediately followed with numbness. Rendering my right arm as good as useless, wincing in pain, I bent over and saw an equalizer at my feet, so I reached down and grasped the small boulder laying there.

The boy was bawling now, crying for his mom.

The large man drew to his full height, looking down at me and just gave me this dumb look. I had the softball size rock in my left hand; I tossed it to my right (cringed) and back again and began just tossing it back and forth when I started wondering if I really could do anything at all to free the boy with my arm like this.

Then, out of nowhere, the big guy said to me, I can't get him to stop crying. Would you help me, please?

What do you expect, I shouted. You dumbass. You scared the little guy half to death! Then I dropped the rock and went up to the boy, leaned over and looked in his eyes. I saw a trembling scared handsome little kid of about 8 or 9 years old I'd guess.

Just then I heard his mom screaming, I turned to see her about 200 yards off. She was finally catching up to us. She scooped the lad up into a tight hug. So tight I thought she might squeeze the air out of him.

Then the kicking started. She was lashing out, kicking the big man all over, like a martial artist would. It was a sight to see as this seemingly 5'2 woman taking on what appeared to be a man about 6'9.

He just let her, didn't even try to protect himself but was whimpering like a child. Finally, her left foot caught him in the balls, so as he doubled over, she landed one on his neck right where it meets his jaw bone, and he dropped cold, unconscious.

I had to stop her as she continued kicking him as he lay there, all the while never letting go of her son. Wow, this woman sure had spunk.

By this time a county deputy showed up, examined the big man, and placed cuffs on him as he started to stir awake.

The deputy introduced himself as Jason Nashon, a local Native American who lived here all his 34 years, except for a stint with the marines in Afghanistan.

The big man he said is Leonard Little, a four-time purple heart decorated war hero, and according to Jason, this was entirely a mystery because Leon (what he went by since first grade) he said had never done anything like this as long as he had known him. This, by the way, was his entire life. These two grew up buddies, went through kindergarten to twelfth together, sports, scouting, then singed up in the corp. under the buddy plan, the whole shebang.

The woman's name was Deirdre Trumpet, and it turned out she had just moved to Poulsbo three days ago from Westchester County, New York.

She was a fashion designer of some notoriety on the 7th avenue fashion district in Manhattan before 9/11 hit her like a ton of bricks. Hell, it hit us all like a brick, but she had lost her best friend and partner. Her husband Jim was a NYFD and one that gave his life after saving 23 others before being buried alive in the rubble.

She was pregnant with little Jimmy at the time but didn't know it. Jim died never even knowing she was pregnant, a shame because they had been trying to have a child for almost five years.

Little Jimmy was her whole life. She cherished that boy more than anything. He was all she had left of her Jim.

As we were coming out of the woods, we ran into a news team from King 5 TV out of Seattle who had been in the area covering a birthday. Mrs. Sylvia Compton had turned 107 years old today, so the station was doing a human interest story on her.

A big crowd had gathered as the lookie-loos tried to get the gist of what was happening. The cameras from the news crew were rolling as Deputy Nashon led a docile and subdued Leon from the woods over to the cruiser. He had placed a jacket over Leon's head to hide his friend's identity.

Deirdre was barely able to carry on any kind of a conversation. It was as if she was on drugs, like she was loopy from a sedative. I assumed it to be shock, but she continued to cling too little Jimmy. She refused to speak to anyone other than Jason and myself and very little at that, so Anna Packard the newscaster turned her focus to me.

I was picking up my broken beer, wine, and was wiping off the smokes when the camera turned to me. Anna said with microphone in hand, Sir, could you tell us what happened here? I'm told you are a hero here today. What can you tell us?

I dropped the broken beers into the trashcan, wiped down Sheila's Marlboros again, turned to Miss Packard, and said,

Well Mam, first off, I'm no hero. All I did was run him down. He stopped on his own, and after the initial contact because I startled him, he just stopped and stood there looking at me like he was all confused. Now I will say that Mrs. Trumpet is one tough senorita. She knocked him cold. I've always heard never to come between a she bear and her cub, but now I've witnessed it firsthand. WOW, if I'm ever in a fight, that little lady is one person I want on my side! The people just jumped to a conclusion, assuming I subdued him; Miss Deirdre did that part, like I said, one tough woman indeed.

Well, she said, not everyone would do what you did in a situation like that. It is a heroic act. Please, what's your name?

Well, my friends call me Dee, Deej, S-4, D.J., Dave, or Jeff, but my name is Davis Jefferson. So, as you can see, I'll pretty much answer to anything, whatever I'm called, I said with a grin. S-4, she said in a kinda sing song questioning way, that's an unusual nickname. What's that stand for?

Oh, that's from a long time ago. My high school football coach gave me that one, and it stuck, I said, still grinning. No seriously, she asked again, what does S-4 stand for?

This Anna woman was smoking hot, and I being the happy ole bachelor that I am; say back to her, slowly, We'll just save that for another day; every relationship needs a little mystery.

Relationship? she said with a cocked eyebrow, a lilt to her voice and a slight smile starting to form.

She had a light olive skin tone, a nice smile, and her lips were different. I mean the top lip was kind of thin and her lower lip more full, which I suppose if you only studied her lips might seem unusual, but on her, it had a captivating effect...she had a deep auburn pixie cut hair style. I'll say it again. Damn, she was SMOKING HOT!

The only relationship we have is an interview in the parking lot of the Gregory IGA, she said in a seductive toying way. Then she realized her cameraman Saam was still filming this on a five second delayed live feed. She spun and blurted, SAAM CUT. Saam did immediately, but it was already too late.

The viewers in the greater Seattle-Tacoma viewing area were witnesses to the spark that happened between us. I didn't care one bit for myself, but I did feel bad for her; it being her job and all.

Saam was a big guy himself. He looked like a man with some kind of South Pacific heritage. Boy, did he have a big grin on his mug too, with a little suppressed chuckle turned half to me so his size was blocking his expression from Anna, but he was full faced with me grinning like a monkey now. He winked and nodded to me, mouthing the words Go for it, man. I've never seen her like this before. He reached with his left hand and gently grabbed his eyelid, pulling it out slightly and wiggling it, faking as if to get something out of his eye as a cover for his winking to me.

He asked Anna as he was turning back to her if she'd like to try for a retake or wrap it up for the day.

Ann had recovered quite quickly and turned to me and said, Well Mr. S-4, would you like to go on or be about your way?

Your call. It's your paycheck, I responded, still smiling.

She answered with a cute little Let's roll it, Saam at which point Saam placed that same left eye into the dominate position in the camera saying, You got it, Boss Lady at which she slapped him on the butt cheek and teasingly said, Saamo you know that's just not right grinning that beautiful thin thick lip thing.

Damn was she just such a turn on. She speaks into the mike saying, Well Mr. Jefferson, I know one boy and his mother who certainly think you're a hero.

# 3

W ell , what the hell, " Sheila said . "It sounds like a real exciting morning...so you still up to throwing down on these groceries for the gang ?" I had to laugh at her carefree , rolling with it attitude. YA THINK ?

I laughed, turned to her, and mentioned, "Of course I said I would, and that's that. Did you get the stuff?"

She looked at me like I had a third eye. "Everything on your list, my chef, she said, grinning like a Cheshire. We still got an hour or so till they start showing up, so I figured I'd chill for a bit, recheck my fantasy lineup before kickoff," I replied.

I called in and dropped Dez Bryant from Dallas and put in Calvin Johnson on the Lions. They were going head-to-head this Sunday, and I just had a feeling.

Sheila was whirling around the room picking up, straightening, dusting everything, annoying me but she's a woman and boy, what a woman. Sheila Softer is 43, 5'6", 145 lbs., has an amazing rack at 42 DD, long mousey hair in which she is constantly changing its color, sparkling hazel eyes which sometimes look green when she gets mad, a sultry voice, angelic features, just gorgeous, and my best friend for a couple of decades.

She was getting ready to be hostess to the gang and wanted everything right, she's like that, meticulous, but it's a good thing.

I put down my beer and headed for the kitchen to start the 'vittles du jour.'

I took a one pound piece of lean pork butt and started shaving it. After working through it the first time, I stopped and washed my hands and then went for the radio.

Sheila had a Bose Wave that sounded tremendous. I tuned it in to a classic rock station. They were tied into the national syndicated system, so Alice Cooper was hosting. I liked that station, so I called it good there and went back to work.

I took the pork and swirled it around and started to julienne my shavings. Sheila came in and started talking about her babies, her pups.

"Well, Kobe was the oldest at 8. The only way you can get away with calling him a 'pup' is he's a Chihuahua mutt, and he's so small, he's forever a pup. It appears the old guy was into mischief tonight.

I went to the frig to grabbed some shallots, garlic, ginger, and scallions. I made quick order of mincing these and started sweating them down in a blend of olive oil with a dash of chili oil and a generous teaspoon of sesame oil. When these were tender and translucent, I set them aside to cool.

I went back and snagged a bag of fresh shrimp and returned to the cutting board with Sheila talking all the while about how Kobe got the others riled up. I could hear them yipping outside. I peeled and deveined the super fresh shrimp and started mincing them too. They smelled slightly sweet---the way only the very fresh do.

I was making Shui Mai, a Chinese steamed dumpling for our hor's d'oeuvre. I was going to break these out at halftime and see how the gang was doing before starting anything for the main course.

The first to arrive was Tina Spiller. Talk about a looker, nothing really spectacular about anything but just the way she carries herself. She looks like the average girl next door, 32 years old, 5'5", brown hair and eyes, a nice smile, rounded everywhere, and she has something inside that makes you just want to be with her.

She's so truly beautiful, funny, smart, kind, and one not ready to be in a relationship, totally independent.

Tina sneaks up behind me and gives me a jolt by pinching my hinny! Her laughter is infectious, so in a minute, she had Sheila and me laughing too.

She had brought some chocolate coconut truffles she'd made to add to the dessert table. We all know if Tina made them, they would be golden.

Tina was born with a silver spoon, but she didn't have a spoiled, snobbish, or an arrogant bone in her body. In fact, she only used family money for her tuition at Washington State University, so she's a Cougar fan. After that, she took a job in an awesome Blues/Jazz club called Highway 99 in Seattle's Market Place area as a bartender. She was an immediate hit there with everybody, both customers and her co-workers.

Currently, she is working on composing a musical of her own, an ambitious goal that we all support and encourage. She's also in real-estate part-time with Century 21 and does well there too.

"What are you making?" she says.

I tell her, "It's those Chinese Shui Mai things that you like."

She replies, "Oh thank you S-4. Can I help"?

"I'll never say no to you, Tina."

Tina washes her hands, puts on an apron, and grabs two knives from the block, does a spinning jump landing in the horse stance, bursting out a HEE YAA. She comes to attention and bows, "How may I help you, kind sir?"

We all crack up and are still in the chuckles when we hear someone pulling in.

It had to be Larry because that was the distinct Harley sound, and the fact that the dogs didn't go bark crazy either because they just love him. Very few people get in without the dogs going off.

Larry rides several different bikes, but this sounds like the old knucklehead he'd chopped all by himself.

Larry Lee is a journalist for the Seattle Times. He's 46, 5'10", fit, and a salt of the earth kinda guy. He rides Harley's, has three, and does all his own work on them. He also shoots wildlife photos as a hobby, and like all of the gang likes the NFL, good food, and good times.

Also, he's unaware that Sheila has a thing for him. We all see it, but she won't admit it. I mean come on...even the dogs seem to know it.

I finished mixing, seasoning, and wrapping the Shui Mai while the three of them played with Kobe, Mabel (short for Maybelline), a long hair mini-Chihuahua, and Dairik her pup (his dad was a yorkie). They are adorable and basking in the attention, knowing they were going to get treats slipped to them later.

Then my cell phone rang. I took the call (damn it! if I'd only known). It was Jason Nashon