Sweet Vendetta Blues

By Hazel B. West

It’s been eight years since Jack left his life in the mafia. Eight years since his adopted father was murdered. Eight years since his own brother shot him in revenge and he had to go into hiding, nothing but a dead man.

When the past comes back to haunt him in the worst way possible, Jack is forced to leave his new life as a homicide detective to flee his faceless enemy, leaving a dead partner in his wake. But the bodies keep piling up and Jack can no longer avoid his past when he finds out that all of the deaths turn out to be connected to one person—The Don of Rosa Nera.

Things get even more complicated when his brother shows up out of the blue, leading his own investigation with information that their adopted father, Paccioretti, had gathered before his death. Despite their turbulent past, Jack and Sebastian decide it’s in their best interests to join forces and fight against the enemy who took so much away from them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hazel B. West
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005038939

Hazel B. West

I spend a good bit of my time writing historical fiction about brave men and women who have graced the pages of history, trying to bring more light to their legacies so readers of all ages will enjoy them.My favorite things/hobbies: Writing obviously, listening to and playing Irish and Scottish folk music, practicing with all eras and types of historical weaponry, GOOD COFFEE, reading of course, dark (dark) chocolate, sketching/painting, hats and boots, collecting little old-fashioned things of all kinds, buying books, and don't forget dressing in period clothing!My favorite kinds of books: Good adventure (sometimes with a little romance), Epic historical series, anything having to do with brotherhood or camaraderie--I'll read anything if it has a strong brotherly bond between two or more guys, time travel novels as long as they are traveling back in time (and not in their own lifetime), good steampunk novels (heavy on the clankers and none of the weird things), military adventure, historical fiction that's either well-written or has unique twists, meaningful or bittersweet war novels, occasionally a good funny book especially ones that are spoofs off old stories or fairy tales, and classics--always the classics!

Book preview

Devil on My Trail

1

2227, Redemption, New Mexico, Independent States of America

The door creaked. His breath shuddered in his lungs, vision tunneling as he pushed the door aside further and stepped into the room.

There was the sharp, coppery tang of blood in the air, the ominous drip…drip…as it pooled onto the floor.

Blood soaked white suit, eyes sewn shut. His lungs closed completely, unable to breathe…

Jack shot up in bed, gasping, metallic hand clutching at his chest, bruising, slipping against beaded sweat. His lungs stuttered but he could breathe in now. A glance around confirmed to him that there was no blood dripping on the floor, even though the sound was still etched into his mind. This was his own small bedroom. Not some crimson-painted office from another lifetime.

He forced his prosthetic to unclench and ran his flesh and blood hand through his hair, feeling the sweat that had gathered on his brow. He glanced over toward the clock on the side table, seeing it read only 5:15 a.m. He groaned and slumped over his knees, still working on getting his breathing under control.

He hadn’t had that nightmare for a while now, maybe a few months—a record, actually. He thought that, maybe, just maybe, he had gotten past it, but, that was probably wishful thinking.

There was no point in bothering to sleep any more now, he decided with resignation. His alarm would go off in less than an hour and he knew better than to think he could get back to sleep after that nightmare.

Jack slid out of bed, yanking his sweat-soaked shirt off as he made his way to the bathroom.

He cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. As he toweled himself dry he couldn’t avoid glancing in the mirror, seeing the typical dark circles under his eyes, and the two very obvious scars in the center of his chest; dark, raised spots that puckered against his pale skin.

He looked away quickly and tossed the towel onto the counter before heading to the kitchen to make coffee.

As the nutty aroma started to fill the small kitchen area, relaxing him slightly, his phone rang.

Sighing, Jack hurried back to his room to grab it off the side table. Yeah?

"You awake, Abberline? the gruff voice over the phone asked. I need you and Cortez in early. We got a bad one."

Jack refrained from sighing again, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Sure. You want us at the precinct?

"No, go straight to the scene. I’ll send you the address."

Jack ended the call and instantly tapped David’s contact as he hurried to grab clothes, getting dressed.

Hey, it’s me, he said in answer to the groggy voice he got on the other end. Captain called. We got some kind of situation out at the edge of town.

"Judging by your bright and early tone, I assume you’re picking me up today?" David said with an audible yawn.

I’ll bring coffee, Jack promised as he grabbed his badge and gun, heading back to the kitchen just as the coffee pot finished.

At least he would have something to distract him from his nightmare if only for one more day.

David yawned as he got into the car and gratefully grabbed the cup of coffee Jack had brought.

It’s an ungodly hour, he groaned, leaning back in the seat and trying to put his dark, wavy hair into some semblance with his fingers as Jack pulled out onto the road again, tapping the GPS selection on his windshield to let it take him to the address the captain had sent. Why do people have to die this early in the morning? Who’s out there calling it in, anyway?

Don’t know, we’ll figure that out when we get there, Jack replied as he eased the hovercar up to a decent clip as they approached the town limits and headed further out into the desert.

It was sunrise now and beautiful, painting the desert all sorts of pastel yellows and pinks in the early light of day. It could be seen even better here outside the limits of the small town, purple mountains rising in the distance, clouds gathering halfway up them. There might be some things Jack still missed about being in the city, but he had to admit he had learned to love the quiet peace of the desert at dawn. It was something special.

How many times has the captain asked us to investigate something before we get into the office? David mused, sipping his coffee as he looked out the window, the houses dwindling the further they got from town.

Jack shrugged. Not many.

Kind of have a bad feeling about this one, David muttered. My abuela always said it was never a good idea to start a day’s work on an empty stomach.

You have coffee, Jack pointed out. We’ll get breakfast on the way back to the precinct.

David huffed but was silent for the rest of the ride.

The GPS indicated the address, but Jack would have been able to find it anyway.

As they pulled up to the location, the front yard was already full of various cars. Jack was surprised to see that even CSI was already there and they usually took forever to show up since they had to come from the next town over.

Cap wasn’t kidding, I guess, David muttered as Jack activated the air brakes and pulled to a stop. This must be a big one. Someone famous?

I’m thinking cartels, Jack replied grimly. Since Las Cruces is already here. That’s the only thing that gets them out of bed in the morning.

David pressed his lips into a thin line. Jack had the feeling it was going to be a long morning.

They headed up to the house, greeting the uniform who was putting up tape. He nodded back and kindly raised it for them to walk under. When they got to the door, they almost got hit by one of the greenies stumbling outside to throw up into the bushes.

David gave an exaggerated sigh. Come on, Mason, we’ve talked about this.

The young man simply heaved again and Jack patted his shoulder as they stepped around him into the house.

Boys, their Captain greeted them soberly as they came inside. His older, kindly face looked more lined than usual this morning, and his light, wispy hair was in almost as much disarray as David’s.

Morning, Captain, David said as he and Jack grabbed gloves from a box sitting on the table by the door.

Body’s in the back, the Captain said, nodding further into the house.

They made their way through the dim interior to a bedroom. The flash from CSI’s cameras preceded the scene but it didn’t stop Jack from feeling a dark shadow settling over him the instant he set foot in the room.

The victim was on the bed, laid out, tied hand and foot to the bedposts, the sheets underneath of him had been soaked in his blood. He had obviously been brutally tortured before he’d died, but that wasn’t what caught Jack’s eyes.

No.

It was the fact that his eyes were sewn shut.

Jack suddenly felt like he should be the one throwing up outside. It couldn’t be. There was no way this is what he was looking at. It had been so long, it had to be a coincidence, right? There had to be some explanation…

He stepped closer to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light, but there was no mistake. Methodical cuts all across the body, blood-soaked sheets, and eyes sewn shut with thick, black thread.

His knees buckled and he just barely caught himself on the back of the desk chair next to him.

Jack! David hurried forward to grab his elbow in a steady hold, concern on his face. What’s wrong?

Jack couldn’t speak, he couldn’t breathe. His lungs were seizing like they had earlier this morning in the nightmare.

All right, come on, amigo, David said, pulling him over to the window. Get that open, he snapped to one of the other lurking figures.

One of the CSI team opened the window and the crisp fresh air on his face brought Jack back around, at least enough so he could breathe again, gripping the wrist of his prosthetic arm to force himself to remember where he was.

David squeezed his shoulder as Jack braced himself against the window sill, gulping the air as he fought to ease the trembling in his limbs. That better? I told you it wasn’t a good idea to go to work on an empty stomach.

Jack didn’t reply, knowing full well that if he had eaten, he’d be joining Mason out in the bushes, though not entirely for the same reason. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen worse, and yet…

I’m fine, he finally managed to choke out. He couldn’t let the others see him like this. Sorry. He straightened up, pulling away from David, swallowing hard before he turned back to CSI. Tell me what you have so far.

The medical examiner, a middle-aged man who wore a constant baleful look, glanced down at his clipboard. Victim’s name is Daniel Harcourt, 51-years old. From what I can tell so far, he died last night around 1 a.m. of blood loss.

Yeah, no kidding, David muttered with a glance at the bed. And you’re sure this isn’t a lover’s quarrel gone wrong?

Don’t joke, kid, the ME said darkly. This look like some lover’s quarrel to you? Judging by the injuries, whoever did this was skilled at their job. They knew exactly how to inflict maximum pain while keeping him from bleeding out too fast.

Skilled. Jack fought a shudder. Yeah, their employer didn’t hire people who weren’t. You typically wanted the most efficient people for the job when you were doing your best to stay as hidden as possible.

That’s all I have for now until I can get him back to autopsy, the ME said.

Yeah, thanks, doc, David said. I think we’ve seen all we need to here as well. He nudged Jack who started slightly, but gratefully followed his partner out into the morning sunlight again.

They ducked back under the tape and were back at the car before David turned to Jack, blocking his way to the driver’s door.

What the hell was that? he demanded quietly. I have never seen you react to a crime scene like that and we’ve seen worse.

Must be my empty stomach, Jack said vaguely, reaching past the other man for the door handle.

David’s hand clamped down on his metal wrist, meeting his eyes firmly. Jack, if you’re hiding something…

I’m not, Jack cut in quickly, trying to be as convincing as possible, meeting David’s concerned brown eyes. As much as he trusted hid partner, he could never tell him about his past. It would only put David into potential danger, especially now if it was practically coming to his doorstep…

I’m just tired—didn’t sleep well last night, Jack told him, not having to fake the weariness in his voice.

David sighed and released his arm, instead holding his hand out. Then maybe I should drive.

Jack hesitated a moment before he acquiesced, fishing his keys from his pocket and dropping them into his partner’s hand. David pushed him toward the other side of the car and got into the driver’s seat.

They sped back to the precinct in silence. It was already bustling by the time they got there. Even though Jack and David had made names for themselves breaking a couple major cases as rookie detectives, it was rare that anything this big happened in the town. Unless it happened to be linked to the cartels that ran rampant here close to the border. Jack would actually give anything to have that be the case here, but between the calling card, and the nightmare he’d had, he just knew that this was exactly what he thought it was, and he didn’t really know what he was going to do about it.

Hey, Patricia, David asked the motherly woman working the front desk as they came in, leaning on it with his elbows. You have a name on who called in the case of the day?

She shook her head, not bothering to look up from her computer as she input files. Came in over the anonymous tip messaging system. Can’t even track a location on that.

Jack pursed his lips. That could mean anything, but he was pretty sure it had been the killer themself who had called it in. The victim hadn’t had any neighbors that would have heard him scream and the house was too far from the road for any passerby to see anything that would be likely to tip them off. That could only mean that this killing was meant as a message. But for who?

Jack felt even more sick than he had earlier, the coffee he had drunk eating a hole in his gut. If this was what he thought it was, was he next? Was it possible that Rosa Nera knew he was here, after all this time?

Hey, you’re zoning again, David barked, snapping his fingers briskly in front of Jack’s face. They must have sent the info over by now, let’s go take a look.

The bullpen was pretty empty that day due to most of the precinct being out at the crime scene. Just messy papers, half-drunk coffee cups and pin boards full of information. They made their way to their shared desk and sat down. Jack took up his tablet, starting it up and flipping through the new files that had been sent.

Let’s see, Daniel Harcourt, apparently he worked from home, some kind of customer service work, David commented, skimming through the documents. Huh… apparently he bought the house here around five years ago and there doesn’t seem to be any record of prior residence or…well, anything before that.

Jack scrolled through the information as well, eyes narrowed as he tried to concentrate, trying to get his mind off of the man’s sewn-shut eyes. That sounds like witness protection, he murmured. He knew a thing or two about that.

Which…if we’re right, and this is a cartel hit, then that would track, David replied grimly. Thing is…I’m just wondering which cartel branch is sewing people’s eyes shut now. Haven’t seen that one before. Always hate to see a new calling card. Hell…

Jack wasn’t really listening through. He’d nearly scrolled past a photo of Daniel Harcourt’s driver’s license before recognition had struck him like a bolt of lightning.

He swore under his breath before he clamped his lips shut, staring in horror.

David glanced up at him from across the desk. Jack? Come on, man, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You still gonna try to tell me something’s not wrong?

It’s…it’s nothing, Jack replied quickly, but he was feeling less and less convinced of that. Because he knew this man. There was no doubt about it. He hadn’t been able to recognize him earlier with the mutilation, but in this picture he was unmistakable. Jack would never forget the man who made him his prosthetic arm. Had pretty much been responsible for saving his life.

He just never would have guessed he’d been less than ten miles away this whole time.

2

It was a long and grueling day. By the time CSI got back to the precinct with the boxes of evidence, Jack already felt like he’d been through a week’s worth of work. He couldn’t get the picture of Daniel Harcourt out of his mind. Of course, he hadn’t been going by that name when Jack had known him, but his name wasn’t exactly the same as it had been before either so he wasn’t one to judge.

It took a lot to concentrate on the case at hand, but David pulled something out of one of the boxes that he studied for a few seconds before frowning, handing it over.

Hey, what do you make of this?

Jack took the evidence bag, seeing that there were several papers inside of it. On one, there seemed to be a list of locations.

Where was this? he asked, glancing at the box.

Says it came from the desk. Hey, Maria, David called to one of the other officers. You know where they picked up this paper?

Maria glanced at what Jack was holding. Oh, that was buried under a bunch of stuff on the desk.

These locations seem pretty random, Jack mused as he looked over the list. Seem to be all over the country.

David leaned in as Jack placed it on the desk between them. Huh, yeah. I was gonna say maybe he was looking into cartel drops, but…they wouldn’t work that far north. Wouldn’t risk tangling with any of the other gangs up there. Not when the northern syndicates practically run everything in their territory.

It might not be the cartels he was looking into, Jack murmured.

What else would this be? David asked. Unless it’s some psycho, but you’d think the Feds would have showed up by now if they smelled a serial killer. From the look of the scene, this was definitely not the UNSUB’s first time doing this. It was too clean, premeditated. Not to mention the fact that he keeps physical notes when he had his computer and tablet right there. Wanted to keep it more secure, maybe?

We need to pull the files from all the cartel cases we’ve worked within the last couple years, Jack said, even though he was sure of what he would find, or rather, what he wouldn’t. See if there’s any similarities. CSI said they didn’t find any finger prints aside from Harcourt’s at the scene, but the killer obviously has a calling card.

You can say that, David said, mouth twisting. It’s just…ugh. Sewing someone’s eyes shut—that takes a real twisted bastard. The cartels are big on beheading and making sure to make an example, but whoever did this obviously enjoyed their job.

Jack swallowed, mouth dry. He got up to grab a fresh cup of terrible precinct coffee, taking a long drink of it to gather himself before heading back to his desk.

They spent the rest of the day looking through all of their files. Jack was just hoping to find at least one consistency that would point to this maybe not being what he feared it was.

Because the one thing he was sure of was that if the enemy had found Harcourt even after he had been in hiding this whole time, then he could also find Jack. He might already know Jack was here, which mean he was probably next on the hitlist.

That night when he went back home, he checked all the doors and windows, locking them, drawing the curtains. He put his gun down on his bedside table, safety off, his backup was under the table by the door.

Needless to say, he didn’t sleep that night. He kept expecting some dark figure to smash through his window, torture him until his blood dripped out onto the floor, then finally sew his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be able to see the face of his enemy even in death. The few times he did drift off, he was woken soaked in sweat and gasping for breath with the lingering sensation of sticky blood on his hands and thread running through his eyelids.

The funny thing was, he was already supposed to be dead. You’d think that would keep him safe, but Jack couldn’t quite believe that. He didn’t have that luxury.

He was exhausted when he drove into the precinct the next morning. David was already there looking through the notes.

Hey, he said, looking up at Jack tiredly. I was thinking we should go back to look over the scene again today. Might find something. I’ve been going through these boxes for too long and I’m not seeing anything here that might solve this thing.

Jack agreed. Anything to get this over with more quickly.

They told the Captain what they were doing and drove out to the house again.

It was a lot more eerie going into it now that it wasn’t crawling with their people. The floor creaked ominously under Jack’s foot, making him cringe. David gave a nervous laugh, clapping him on the back.

What is wrong with you lately? It’s just an old floor.

Jack set his jaw and they made their way back to the bedroom again.

The blood-soaked bed was still there, smelling stale and heady now, but Jack ignored it. He wasn’t a stranger to violence. It was the context that was bothering him.

Looks like they only pulled the important stuff off the desk, David sighed as he snapped gloves on and started to pick through the items that were left. Mostly pencils, unused sticky notes and the like. The computer had been taken to their tech analyst to see if anything could be found on it. So far there was nothing that was particularly incriminating.

Jack turned to the bookshelf sitting against one wall. There wasn’t a lot on it, but a few older, antique paperbacks sat there, mostly classics and philosophy. The copy of Crime and Punishment caught his eye and he pulled it off the shelf, a bit wryly, flipping through it.

Something fluttered from the pages onto the floor.

Jack glanced down and bent to pick up the folded paper, peeling it from the floor still tacky with blood.

Hey, David, he said slowly as he folded the paper open. I think I might have found something.

David was at his side instantly, looking over his shoulder.

What is that?

Jack shook his head. Looks like some kind of code? I don’t know.

It was mostly a jumble of letters and numbers from what he could see but he wasn’t very good at code breaking or anything so it pretty much looked like gibberish to him.

Huh, David mused, plucking the paper from his hand to study closer. It does look like code. I wonder if it has something to do with those locations we found.

We won’t know until we figure it out, Jack said, pulling an evidence bag out of his pocket and tucking the note inside.

Bring the book too, it might be a key, David told him, taking both from Jack and tucking them into his coat pocket.

They picked apart the rest of the house, but saw nothing else that was worth finding.

I think that’s all we’re going to get here, but hopefully that note turns out to be something, David said as they left the house.

He studied it all the way back to the precinct, flipping through the book as well but not appearing to have any luck.

Well, it’s not a normal book cipher, he said. But I might be able to crack it if I can figure out what the device is. You mind if I take this home with me?

Jack shook his head. Go ahead. You’re better at that stuff than I am.

David nodded and folded the note back into the copy of Crime and Punishment.

They did some more research, called Harcourt’s employers, but there were no potential witnesses or even suspects to his murder. He hadn’t been social with anyone. The only thing they found out was that he liked to frequent a bar in town.

Aspen’s, David told Jack as he got off the phone.

It’s a semi-popular place…usually pretty quiet on weeknights.

Exactly, David said. Just the kind of place a recluse would prefer—not surprised you know it. He sighed and stood up, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. Come on, it’s late. Time we got out of here. I think we could both use a little time to unwind, huh?

Jack ran a hand over his face, grabbing his own jacket. What are you talking about?

Going out for a couple drinks, David grinned. At Aspen’s.

All right, Jack consented. But only because it’s still pretty much work.

I never said that, amigo, David smirked as he grabbed his shoulder and steered him toward the door before the captain could come and assign them with more work for the day.

Jack wasn’t entirely thrilled with the idea of going to one of the only places Harcourt had frequented, but he was also pretty sure by now that if a hit had also been put on him, it would have already happened. It was entirely possible that Harcourt had just been looking into stuff Rosa Nera didn’t want him to, but Jack didn’t want to fall into the false sense of security that it was a coincidence his own hiding spot had been passed over.

Maybe, in retrospect, it was a little too hopeful for him to think that.

The bar was indeed pretty quiet, but they had good food and good beer so Jack wasn’t one to complain. It had comfortable seats and was dimly lit with mostly just the neon signs above the counter; the music hadn’t been turned up too loudly yet, either, so they could actually hear each other talk. David kept working on the code through dinner, trying to see if he could make any sense of it.

I don’t think staring at that for a record-breaking amount of time is going to help it make any more sense, Jack finally told him.

You’d be surprised, David said, but tucked the paper back into the book and took up his drink again. But I have had enough of that for now. I wanna know what the hell is going on with you lately.

Nothing’s going on with me, Jack deflected.

David gave him a baleful look. We’ve been partners for almost five years, Jack. You think I can’t tell? I know what you’re like when you work a case; you’re focused, almost belligerent. Especially with ones as bad as this. You’re not usually zoning out or looking over your shoulder like someone’s after you.

Jack turned away, taking a long drink of his beer. I’m telling you, David, you’re imagining it.

Look, the other man said firmly, leaning over the table. You’re entitled to your secrets. I know you don’t talk about your past. And you know I’m okay with that. But if this is going to affect the case…

It’s not, Jack cut in quickly.

So you at least admit there is something, David pressed carefully, meeting Jack’s eyes. What are you not telling me, man? Because I can tell it’s eating at you, and I don’t want a partner who isn’t on top of things. Especially if we’re going up against the cartel.

Jack sighed and reached for his wallet. You don’t have to worry about that, okay? You know I’ll always do my job, I just…I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. And I think we need to be careful.

He pulled out his card and tapped it against the payment portal on the table. Look, I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept well for the last couple days.

Yeah, alright, David muttered. Have a good night.

Jack yanked his coat on and left, tapping his key against the side of his car before getting in and driving slowly back home.

He took a hot shower—not forgetting to leave the gun on the sink—and though he felt a little refreshed physically after that, his mind was still in turmoil.

The worst part was that he had no contacts he could ask about this. He had completely left that life when he had moved to New Mexico. All of them thought he was dead. He didn’t even know how many of the men he used to run with were still alive. He didn’t even know if…

No, Jack wouldn’t think of him. That was a rabbit hole he didn’t need to spiral down.

He turned on the television in the hopes that there would be something to distract him. He was exhausted but sleep still felt a thousand miles away.

He didn’t know exactly when it was, but sometime after midnight, he was startled by the sound of his phone ringing. His heart picked up when he saw it was David, dread already settling in his stomach at the possibility of more bad news.

Hey, he said cautiously as he answered it, muting the TV.

"It’s names, Jack."

Jack frowned, leaning forward, one elbow resting on his knees as he listened to David’s excited voice. What do you mean?

"The code! I figured out how to break it—well, the first part anyway. It’s names."

What names?

"I don’t know, I’m currently looking them up in the database, but I think we might have come up with something big."

I don’t see why he would have names hidden unless it was something big.

"Thing is, I think you might have been onto something when you said this wasn’t a cartel thing," David continued.

Jack felt his stomach tighten. Why would you say that?

"Well, because the first name on the list is Luca Bellucci. Sounds more like someone from the New York gangs."

Jack barely heard anything after that. Bellucci…

Look, David, he cut in quickly. Don’t look into any of those people.

He could almost hear David’s incredulous look on the other end. "What do you mean? That’s kind of our job."

Just…not tonight, okay? Jack said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, you asked me earlier and