Blood and Bowling

By Troy Adami

A secret to protect, troubling history to ignore, and what’s a righteous vigilante?

Jack Dawson’s days as a police detective have ended, but his son’s political career needs help. He must find a killer to make sure his son’s indiscretion remains a secret. Along the way, he discovers shocking truths to challenge his priorities. Can he ignore the bloodshed from decades ago? Suddenly, Jack must decide whether exposing the truth is worth risking his son’s career. The journey is fast, and the truth is disturbing, but will justice prevail?'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Aug 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922812520

Book preview

1

Jack grew up interested in baseball, history, and he liked to bowl. At school, he played baseball, and loved history class. Away from school, his father took him to the baseball, and they bowled together. It was a pleasant childhood. As an adult, what interested him as a teenager became of minimal interest. He focused on work, marriage, and the annual family summer vacation in Maine. On the odd occasion, when time permitted, he took his son to a baseball game. When he retired, he found time for baseball again.

Once Penny became sick and they moved to Florida, Jack bought a paper every day to read about baseball. He liked to check who was hitting well. It wasn’t an unhealthy hobby to return to and, unlike his former profession, there was no blood to contend with—only black ink. After Penny passed away, he didn’t buy the paper anymore.

Today, he’ll watch a game on the television and let the broadcasters tell him what he needs to know. No bloody hands, no black ink, and no extra daily expense. Besides, nothing else has interested him except reading the sports section. No news item can remind him of what’s wrong with the world; recalling his wife’s daily suffering does the job. His cell phone rings—the number isn’t showing.

Hello.

Jack Dawson?

Jack raises an eyebrow. Who’s this?

My name is Detective Reggie Pride, and I’m relaying information from Miami’s Chief of Police, Mr. Jim Thomas.

I expected to hear from you, but was hoping for later than sooner. It’s nothing personal.

Hey, I understand. I’ll try to cut to the chase and avoid the horseshit.

The voice over the phone sounds in his early thirties and confident. Jack half smirks. Music to my ears.

I’m five minutes away from your place. You at home?

Yes, I’m home. Is this my repayment?

You can call it whatever you want, Mr. Dawson. I’m only here to relay information. I’m a cop, but moonlight as a fixer.

That doesn’t sound half suspicious. What are you working as now?

Sometimes you get a two for the price of one. You feel me?

I’m experiencing a mixture of nicotine and fiber in the pit of my stomach.

That’s too much information.

You asked me what I felt. Are you aware of how I found myself in this mess?

I asked if you fe … never mind. Besides, how you found yourself in this mess is none of my business. Again, I’m only here to relay the information. I’ll tell you the problem, and you tell me if you want to help us.

Should I prepare a glass of milk and a plate of cookies?

I’m not a freakin’ kid and I’m damn sure no Santa Claus either. This is serious business that needs attending. This is no joke.

I’ll be waiting by the door with eager anticipation for you.

Your voice has so much enthusiasm. Be there in less than two minutes.

In his experiences with big talking individuals, two minutes is a very casual expression. At least he can agree with his upcoming guest on one thing—Santa Claus isn’t coming. He sits at the dining table and waits for the knock on the door. Right now, on any other day during baseball season, he’s watching a pre-game show on the television.

2

Jack opens the front door, and before his eyes stands a black male of medium build. He’s wearing a red shirt underneath a black tie and suit. He has glasses sitting on top of his nose and resembles more a lawyer, or an accountant. Were you the person I was talking to a few minutes ago? Are you the one here to deliver a message from the chief of police?

He grins, shows his badge, and presents his hand. That’s why I’m here. It’s Detective Reggie Pride at your service. As I mentioned to you on the phone, we have a problem and think it’s in your field.

He shakes his hand while noticing the ring on his pinky. It’s a gold ring with a large green stone. What field is that?

Hey, you have a nice firm grip. Your past places you in an ideal position to help us. With your experience and fresh eyes, we need you to help us find a killer. You feel me?

I haven’t walked the streets with a badge in a while. Also, I’ve never walked these streets ever with a badge. Only in Boston do I know the ‘players’ from the regular citizens. In South Florida, I’m not only rusty, but clueless.

We’re willing to take that chance. Hey, you resemble the basketball coach with the slick back hair, ah, what’s his name?

Basketball isn’t my sport. Baseball is the sport I grew up following, along with a bit of football. Besides, if you look at the top of my head, my days of having slick back hair left me well over a decade ago.

I wasn’t referring to your follicle features, but your facial ones. You also have that tall, thin body and narrow jawline. If I were you, I’d embrace it.

I’ve been called worse. Since we’re throwing around comparisons—your dress sense resembles more a partner in a law firm.

Reggie smirks. I hear it often. My mom always told me to dress the part and doors will open. You should try dressing similar. I’ll take you to a bingo hall and see what you can get.

Jack twists his mouth. I’ve gone back into a time machine. Suddenly, I’m staring at another questionable individual. Do I appear amused by your bullshit? How ‘bout we cut to the chase? You said on the phone it’s serious business, did you not?

Take it easy, man. Are you gonna to invite me inside your home?

Nope. Call me suspicious.

Reggie smirks again. That’s cool. Okay, I’m here to offer you twenty-five thousand dollars if you choose to accept this task. You feel me?

Jack glares over Reggie’s shoulder. Come inside and stop blurting out dollar amounts. Don’t want the world thinking I’m into something shady. Thought you were a cop.

I am a cop … but I had to get your undivided attention. I appreciate your new found hospitality, Mr. Dawson.

As Reggie walks inside, Jack shuts the door and stares straight at him as they both stand inside the doorway. I’m not getting into something shady, am I?

You don’t have to say yes to my proposal.

I have a choice?

This isn’t a communist country—you have a choice.

Aren’t I returning a favor for the chief of police as repayment for his help?

We pay you for our favors. Don’t you love your adopted local law enforcement?

There’s a pause. Jack rubs his lower lip. I’m now more suspicious.

Damn. You’re a strange dude.

You realize I used to be a cop, do you not?

Of course.

"Well, try looking at it from my point of view. How can your nice suit, penchant for saying ‘you feel me,’ and cash offering not make me suspicious? Now do you feel me?"

He chuckles. Have it your way. Here’s the bottom line—‍there’s a retired judge living in Palm Beach. The man is worried about his life. He has a bodyguard by his side twenty-four-seven and wants his freedom back.

Life can be tough. Jack raises an eyebrow. Why should I give a shit?

We’re not just talking twenty-five thousand to accept helping him. There’s another fifty if you find the killer. I’ll come clean—the judge’s paying you and not the taxpayers of South Florida.

Money is why I should give a shit?

We know your circumstance, Mr. Dawson. We know your late wife, Penny, was a fighter. That fighting led to a long battle and cost you a small fortune in medical expenses. After the funeral, you had to sell your house, sell your car, and move into this place.

Done your research, huh?

This is a win-win. You get financial relief, the judge gets his freedom back, and you repay the chief of police for covering up your son’s bout of infidelity. The righteous judge gets to live without a six-foot-five, three hundred pound bodyguard hovering around him; you can live more comfortably. Even today, your son continues his political aspirations with no dirt finding its way to the press. That’s a win. If the rest goes to plan, it’s a win-win-win.

I thought you said it’s none of your business.

It’s not, but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the issue.

He has a badge and correct information, so Jack’s in no position to offer much resistance. Jack can’t walk away from such an offer. It’ll take years to save that much cash as a mall cop. He scratches his temple. I still wish my son wasn’t in this position, but the financial reward makes the return favor more enticing. Where’s the twenty-five grand?

At the judge’s house awaiting collection along with the information.

I thought you said you had it here.

I never said that.

But you—

You shouldn’t make assumptions. Maybe you are too rusty.

You’re a sly one, aren’t ya?

Reggie grins. Nah—I like messin’ with people. He hands Jack a note. Here’s the judge’s address. He’s expecting your arrival this afternoon. Please be there at four o’clock. The old man dislikes waiting.

He holds the note closer to his face. Judge Gerald T. Stevens and Palm Beach catch his eye. Was he any good?

Reggie winks. He was one of the best. The dude should have had his own freakin’ television show.

Great—I’m off to save ‘Judge Hollywood’ from a deranged criminal he once put away.

Does this mean you’ll take on the task?

Well, it sure beats having to work in a mall and chase a young punk, trying to impress a girl by stealing sunglasses.

Cool. I’ll be back in touch soon after you meet with the judge. I’ll be able to help you when required.

Jack raises both eyebrows. Any chance I can have your number? You never know when I may need that help.

What’s the rush? Besides, I’ll be back in contact soon.

Jack half smirks. Can’t say I’m surprised.

Reggie opens the front door. Speak to you soon, Mr. Dawson.

Can’t wait.

Reggie walks out, gets into a black sedan that has tinted windows, and drives away. Jack’s not even sure it’s his old cop instincts telling him there’s more to this story than meets the eye—it’s common sense. In the meantime, he gazes up at the ceiling. Just great.

3

The last time Jack visited Palm Beach County was for lunch with his son, Corey. They went to an Italian restaurant in West Palm Beach. Corey headed out to Miami Beach that night. He wished they came up here for dinner instead. The financial reward didn’t exceed the suspicion and distrust of the whole circumstance.

Jack now pulls up in front of a lavish mansion. He has never seen this part of the county. West Palm Beach is where regular folk live, while Palm Beach is the wealthier side of town. Back home in Massachusetts, you visit Nantucket to view such wealth. Around here, three bridges divide two major economic discrepancies.

There’s a six-foot high black gate and fence sitting at the property’s front. Through the gate, you can view a big house and a large front lawn. There’s a long driveway that leads to a large garage. It’s more the typical home of an athlete, or movie star, over a judge. He’s not familiar with the judge’s history, but he’s guessing the only sign of working class in his family comes from those they hire.

He gets out of his car and approaches the front gate. It’s a warm afternoon and beads of sweat trickle along his temples. He pushes the intercom button that sits alongside it.

Yes, calls out from the intercom.

My name’s Jack Dawson. I’ve come here to see Judge Stevens.

The click from the gate signals his invitation back into this world. He walks along the brick pathway that leads up to the house. It’s an impressive residence. He takes two steps up to the front porch. Suddenly, a large white guy walks out the front door to greet him. As Reggie Pride describes, this guy is around six-foot-five and three hundred pounds. He doubts even the funniest of jokes could draw even a slight grin. Jack recalls his last laugh coming when cell phones were the size of bricks. He can relate to the mindset.

Jack Dawson?

He gives a slight nod. That’s me.

He holds up a hand and motions. Come this way. They walk inside the house and stop at the first door. Please wait here. I’ll see if Judge Stevens is ready for you.

Jack half smirks. Sure.

The long hallway has several doors on either side. The hall­way leads to the kitchen. A large archway leads into the dining room. There are many paintings that decorate the cream walls along the hallway. Having an interest in art might give him the ability to recognize whether they’re expensive pieces, but art isn’t his thing. Where he comes from, fine art is two dogs