The White Pearl

By Tania L Giguere

There can still be hope for a brighter tomorrow in a perilous world filled with menacing entities when one light shines forth from a sea of darkness. "The White Pearl" perfectly expresses this motivation.

A gripping tale of how one man combats the notorious side of Chicago, the book starts with a series of murder and drug cases

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tania L. Giguere
• Release date: Aug 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958518830

Tania L Giguere

Tania L Giguere grew up in Michigan and started writing in her middle school years and continued throughout high school getting into trouble with her teachers. But still, she remained faithful to her writing. Tania realized that when she wrote it would bring life to the empty pages. Now with her years of writing, Tania L Giguere has written several children's books, adult fiction, young adult, coloring books, quotes, and poetry to ease the soul. Her love of poetry published with Eber & Wein. Tania also for inclusion in World of Poetry's 1992 Edition of Who's Who In Poetry and Our World's Most Treasured Poems 1991.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The alarm goes off, and it sounds like a foghorn echoing in John's brain. So he reaches over to slap at it, but he misses the damn thing. So he rolled himself closer to the side of the bed to turn the beeping off.

Man, I hate that sound, but I hate getting up more.

So John places the pillow over his head, hoping to drown out the morning for just a while longer. While lying there on his back, John stretches out his arms but never removes the pillow from his face. Then slipping back into unconsciousness, he dreams of his lost love. Cradling her close and tenderly kissing her soft, warm lips, John begins caressing her naked flesh running his tongue down her neck and around her firm breast. Slowly he brushes her hair back and away from her face, and she giggles, rolling over on her side, both of them lost in each other when suddenly something awakens him, but what? John doesn't know. John never knows what wakes him when he dreams of her.

Thrashing his head John causes the pillow to fall to one side, and he is left there lying alone on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The memories are gone, with the thoughts lost. But John knows that they will always return because he will never forget his one true love.

Finally, forcing himself to get up, he walks to the bathroom and feels around for the light switch. Click.

God, I am now blinded by the light.

A good song, so John hums a line or two in his head as he washes away the evidence of last night's party. He splashes the warm water over his face and thinks about the girl that he was with, he can not quite place

her name, but she was a beauty. She had a sweet smile with long dark hair flowing around her neck. The red dress she was wearing was cut deep around her breast and very inviting, and when she accepted the drink that John had sent over, he knew that she would be his. At least for the night.

But she was just one of a dozen girls since John had lost his love so many years ago. He does not even think of love or long relationships anymore. John dreams only of her, the woman who held his heart, making him complete. He knows that there is no other that could ever replace her. She touched his soul in a way that changed him forever.

With his eyes still closed, John finishes drying his face off and tosses the towel on the sink's counter; he then leans in, looking carefully into the mirror. Turning his head from side to side, John smiles at his reflection, thinking of how handsome he is for his age. Being in his late thirties, the lines that have started forming around the outside of his eyes have only added character to their dark blue color. John flexes his arms, then runs his thick, muscular hands through his black hair and winks.

Life hasn't kicked your butt yet, John.

Still, in his briefs, he heads slowly to the kitchen. First things first, a cup of coffee. He pushes the button, and it begins brewing, filling the small apartment with its aroma.

Now, that is what I like this early in the morning. He sniffs the air.

John then pours a big cup with no sugar and no creamer, just solid and black. John enjoys every sip as he kicks back in the kitchen chair; time to unwind. John thinks of nothing as he sits there even though he knows that this new nightclub brings death into his city.

And when he had finished with his coffee, he pushed the cup away, staring at it as if it would tell him something; quickly, he reached back for the empty coffee cup, and John began spinning it around.

If only you were my crystal ball. If you could only tell me what the future holds.

He sat in his chair, staring at the empty cup, waiting.

What, no answers for me? No thoughts on the matter? John taps his fingers on the kitchen table as he becomes restless.

Okay then, time to move, time to get motivated.

So he slides his chair out and heads back to the bedroom. John searches through his dresser drawers and finds a t-shirt with a sweater to go over the top and a pair of blue jeans. The ripples of muscle in his stomach tighten as he puts on his jeans, and the t-shirt that he slipped over his head is snug around his midriff, causing his muscles to bleed through with a quick snap, John pulls the sweater over his t-shirt. He then begins looking around for his boots, only to find them lying in the corner of his room.

There you are.

He grabs them up and then heads back into the kitchen for another round of coffee. He reaches for his cup and holds it high as he walks by the kitchen table. John studies it hard as he moves it back and forth.

What, still no thoughts? Nothing coming through your porcelain skin? Well, that's just fine because I can figure this one out on my own.

John fills the coffee cup to the rim; he takes a big swig.

Now, that's what I call mean.

John leans back on the kitchen counter with his head much clearer, pulling his thoughts together and thinking like a dealer. John has dealt with many of them on the streets, but these new guys are way above that scene. John now has to think on a different level. On a scale that just involves money and murder. What would he do to make the gold? What would he do to run the city?

John sets his empty cup in the sink, and with his thoughts still running a mile a minute, he forgets where he placed his boots.

Damn.

Looking around the kitchen, John sees his boots lying under the table; he must have tossed them there without thought. So he reaches down, scooping them up, and walks over to sit on the couch when suddenly a shot of pain shoots across his lower back. John straightens up a little and moans, too many fights with too little arrest. He then pulls the last boot on and heads back to the bedroom over to the dresser, where his badge laid on a small blue doily that his love had given him. John never did get rid of it because it held the memories of that morning when she had surprised him with it.

She was grinning as she told John just how proud she was of him. How proud she was to be his girl. She is proud of how much he has done to help his city. And how he has given so much of himself to keep its people safe. She was pleased that he had earned his badge and was now a detective. John drops his head and closes his eyes; he can see her in her purple nightie dancing over to the dresser. She opened her hand and carefully placed his badge on the blue doily. John could also hear himself telling his love.

You're putting my badge on a blue doily!

With his eyes still shut, John walked over to her as he continued joking around about the blue doily, but before she could say anything else, John placed his hand behind her head, kissing her passionately and then saying, I love you.

Now he opens his eyes to stare at the badge wondering if it is all worth it, wondering if he could again make his girl proud of him. He placed a hand on the blue doily; as he lifted the badge, the light from the ceiling fan sparkled off of it.

My darling, you understood just how hard it was to be an undercover officer, and you gave me the love that I didn't feel I deserved. John was holding the badge tight in his fist.

And you were right; it does have its rewards, like putting away the scum in this city who kill without a thought. Locking up the druggies who sell their death to the weak and the unexpecting.

Yes, this all makes for a good day in the life of John.

He then hooks the badge to his belt and glances over at his .45. John always hangs her on the bed rail, still within his reach and always ready to fire. John can never be too careful in his line of work. He knows the kind of trashy people he deals with and their poison. He reaches over and slips on his shoulder holster, giving his .45 a quick pat.

Back out in the front room, he grabs up his black leather jacket and heads out the front door. Going down the steps of his apartment, he sets off all the dogs in the neighborhood, and they all start barking in harmony. John shouts out to them.

Quiet! Way too much noise this early in the morning.

Fall is setting in, and the wind is blowing. He cuts through the parking lot and hits the sidewalk. John looks back as he always does; it is a habit that he has picked up from working on the streets. Watch for everything and know everything around you. He shivers a little, then pulls his jacket closer around himself.

John is walking at a good pace when he notices some of the low lives hanging out in front of the stores. Some are dealers, some are trying to make a deal, and some owe John for saving their asses.

Hey, it looks like Bumsville around here! John shouts over to the men.

Yeah, man, whatever! They shouted back.

Whatever? I will lock your asses up, and that you can count on. John muttered as he placed his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, then thought back to when things were much better in this part of town.

It was a place where you would see families out walking and enjoying their morning together. Kids were riding their bikes around and talking with the store owners. Parents that didn't have to worry like they do today. Now all John sees when he looks around is that things need to happen to bring back the good old days.

Another crossing light. I can't believe how many of these things are in this city? John shakes his head.

Excuse me, sir. I just need to push the little red button.

I have already done that, sir. The man answered back.

Well, maybe the light will change faster if I push it again, sir.

John smiles at the man as he pushes the little red button, but the cars keep coming and going in every direction. Horns were sounding off at each other like they were having a conversation. John shakes his head again and waits for the light to change. And when it does, he's the first to jog across the street, dodging the oncoming people, and still wonders who in the hell built all of these street lights. John takes a quick glance at his watch as he avoids the oncoming people and looks for any cars that might not wait.

I still have time to stop at the cafe before heading to the station.

Again he jogs across another street and down a couple of stores to Mike's Golden Expresso. John opens the door to the cafe to find the place packed.

If I had my car, this would not have happened. I would have already been here and gone.

Hey, Mike, John calls out as he tosses him a wave.

John, how ya been doing? I was wondering when I would see you again the usual?

Sounds super, Mike.

John moves around the people who are crowding the counter and playing on their cell phones.

Mike is already making John a large cup of coffee with a shot of espresso in it while John talks about his adventures with his buddies from work.

You know, Mike; those clowns that I call friends talked me into going out last night and leaving my car at the station. Now I am on foot and cold as hell.

Yeah, that wind is picking up again; the windy city is a perfect name.

Then Mike chuckles as he asks, Where did you go last night?

We headed to the Bar and Grill and blew off some steam; it's a great place to cut loose, but I will never leave my ride again. Next time Mike, I will be the designated driver.

Sure, John. Mike smiles as he hands John his cup of coffee.

You just be careful out there, John.

I always am. Thanks for the brew, buddy.

John throws up a wave as he shuffles back through the crowd of people waiting at the counter; finally, he makes it out the cafe's door. The wind is blowing hard, and John has to hold onto his cup tight, but this time he runs across the street; John isn't going to wait at any more crossing lights.

He can see the station ahead, so he starts walking at a brisk pace until he reaches the steps. Then he stands there looking up at them, thinking, now I have to climb them? Up the stairs, he goes, but when he gets to the landing, John struggles to pull the station door open while holding his cup of coffee. The wind pushes back as John pulls on the door to get it to open. Annoyed by the resistance that he's getting, John decides that it would be better to set the cup down, then pull on the door.

The officer at the front desk looks up from the commotion that he hears and sees who it is, and Jack has to grin; he is now amused at watching John hold the door open with his foot while trying to pick up his cup of coffee at the same time. The wind is pounding John pretty well. But when John finally masters the door and the wind, he steps in quickly, getting his cup of coffee back on balance.

Morning, John. Jack nods.

Morning, Jack. John nods back.

Then John keeps walking; he passes some of the guys sitting at their desks, and they start to rib him about last night's outing and ask if he remembers standing at the table giving a speech about life in general.

John had to stop.

Hey, you guys, you know that you're making that shit up. Right?

Hell yeah, John.

The guys are staring thoughtfully at him, then burst out laughing. Then John begins laughing, telling the men, I owe you guys one.

John still keeps walking through the office and sees Leo sitting at his desk; he is reading the paper as usual as if he is looking for his name in it. Steve and Bill are standing by the water cooler, talking about nothing and eating donuts. The place is still the same, and it needs a paint job too.

Bill notices John and gives a slight wave. Steve, just keeps eating away at his donut.

John remarks,

If you guys keep eating those donuts that way, you're gonna turn into a donut.

Yeah, John. Look who's talking. Steve smarts off.

John smiles, shaking his head as he makes his way to his office. He sees the front door.

Now, I'm good. He mumbles to himself.

Chapter 2

John walks in and closes the door behind him, shutting the world out even if it's just for the moment. He then walks over, pulls his chair out from his desk, and sits down. He takes a deep breath and another sip of his coffee before removing his .45 from his holster. John places her in the top drawer of his desk and starts shuffling through the paperwork that has piled up. John always promises himself to get it done, but somehow that promise keeps getting further away. Another sip of coffee before John flips open his computer and