Blind Date Shark Bait

By Billy Dean

Rick is the leader of a team of former Marines who go around the law to put criminals out of business when the police have been unable to bring the criminals to justice. The story begins when Rick meets Linda on a blind date. Her Father, the owner of a restaurant she designed, is in debt to a loan shark. The plot thickens when the loan shark threatens to kidnap Linda to force her father into signing the deed over to him. Rick and his team step in to turn the tables on the loan shark. Just when the story takes its darkest turn...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Billy Dean
• Release date: Jun 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215088623

Billy Dean

Billy Dean is a free-lance writer with degrees in English and Engineering. He has written articles for trade journals, been a newspaper columnist, performed poetry at open mic events, and had his essays, memoirs, poems, stories and how-to guides published with on-line magazines and e-book distributors.

Book preview

Cast of Characters

Rick – former Marine

Brad – Rick’s best friend

Maria – security expert

Linda – Rick’s blind date

Tony – Linda’s father

Jessica – Rick’s deceased wife

Betty – Rick’s sister in law

Scott – Betty’s ex husband

Jimmy – Betty & Scot’s son

Bob – Betty’s new husband

Greg – tranquilizer expert

Barbara – martial arts expert

Mike – attorney and pilot

Sheri – wall climbing expert

Tim – police detective

Akula Soklov (Mister K) – lone shark

King (Sergei) & Kong (Yakov) – K’s gorillas

Oleg Kuznikevich – Mafia boss

Boris – Oleg’s body guard

Red and Rug - Oleg’s goons

***

« 1 »

Rick was chasing Brad through the hairpin curves on Angeles Crest Highway when his cell phone rang. He let it go to voice mail. Brad was on his Triumph Thruxton and Rick was riding his Ducati Scrambler. Both were custom made cafe racers. Brad had challenged Rick to keep up and he was. Brad’s Triumph had fifty percent more horsepower than Rick’s Ducati but Rick was more skilled at negotiating curves.

When they got to the turnout at Inspiration Point, Brad pulled in. They got off their bikes and stretched their legs.

Another awesome ride through the canyon, Rick. I knew you were on my tail so I picked up the pace.

Yep, you were jammin' but I could have passed a dozen times.

Yeah, right. On our way back I’ll let you lead and we'll see who passes who.

Rick ignored Brad’s friendly jibe, then pointed to Inspiration Point. Look at that view, Brad.

It was still early in the morning so the upper part of the mountain looked like an island floating on a blanket of fluffy clouds.

Yeah, magnificent. I've heard you can see it better from the Pacific Crest Trail.

Someday we should ride up here, Brad, park the bikes and take a hike.

"There are seven days in a week, Rick, and Someday ain't one of them.

Brad was always coming up with clever, surprising way of seeing things. He turned his head to the right, then slowly to the left. Rick followed his gaze, letting his eyes feast on the panoramic view from the top of the world. Their adrenalin-charged ride up the highway gradually segued to a calm, comfortable silence.

A few minutes later, Rick's cell phone buzzed again. He glanced at the caller ID. Betty. Probably wanted him to babysit Jimmy again, so he let it go to voice mail. Again.

Brad glanced at Rick. Betty?

Yeah, now she wants me to spend the weekend with Jimmy so she and Bob can spend the weekend at Catalina.

Your sister in law and her new husband sure love to tap into that generous spirit of yours. But cheer up, Rick. Things could be worse.

The last time you gave me that advice, I cheered up and sure as hell things got worse.

Brad chuckled. Maybe Betty’ll set you up with a good lookin’ woman. Then you’ll have her to cheer you up.

Rick shook his head. Two chances of that happening, Brad.

Yeah. Nil and none.

They swung their legs over their bikes, started the bikes and headed down the canyon. Rick led this time and grinned every time Brad tried to pass.

When Rick got home, he started to call Betty, then put his phone down on the dinner table. Sure, he could drive down to Carlsbad. He liked Jimmy. They always had a good time playing basketball, trading stories and watching TV. Or give her some lame excuse. Why couldn't Scott, her ex husband, step up to the plate? Jimmy was his son. Rick knew the answer to that. Scott was too wrapped up in himself to have time for anyone but himself. That's why he was Betty's ex.

***

« 2 »

Rick shaved, showered, made coffee and ate a sandwich stuffed with coconut oil, almond butter, sauerkraut and a mashed avocado. If Brad knew what he ate every morning, he’d probably stop riding with him.

The ride down to Carlsbad wasn't fun, even on his Ducati. Saturday morning on the 405 freeway. The longest parking lot in the world. He saved time and frustration by slipping between the lanes when things slowed to a crawl.

When he got to Bob and Betty's place, there was a beautifully restored '65 Corvair in their driveway. Bob drove a Chevy Volt, and Betty had a Honda Accord so he wondered who owned the Corvair. Whoever it was, they had parked in the center of the driveway. Not enough room, even for his Ducati. He found a spot on the street a few houses down from Bob and Betty’s place, set the kickstand and turned off the engine.

Betty was the sister of Rick’s late wife, Jennifer. She was murdered by a serial killer while jogging in Griffith park. That was six years ago. Rick had stayed in touch with Betty, partly because that made him feel as if he were still in touch with Jennifer, but also because he liked Betty and her new husband, Bob. Her first husband had gradually made it obvious that he was a sociopathic liar, gambling addict and all around jerk.

Bob and Betty had moved since Rick's last visit, so he looked around to familiarize himself with the surroundings. Every house on their street looked like the house next door. Two stories and a double-car garage on a small lot. The incongruity between these houses and the sprawling ranch style homes of the 50s and 60's made him shake his head. He could hear Bob Dylan singing The times they are a changing.

A tall, manicured palm tree towered over their driveway and the house. His eyes followed it up to the Spanish-tiled roof and dormer windows on the second floor. Another mismatch. The garage below was plain and the house above it was attractive.

Rick got off his bike and removed his helmet. There was a cobblestone path on the right side of the driveway. He followed it to the front door and pushed the button for the doorbell. Moments later, the peephole darkened. The door opened a crack. He could see the security chain in place.

Yes? a woman's voice asked, softly suspicious.

The Corvair in the driveway… this isn't Betty.

Sorry, I thought this was the Anderson's house.

He turned, stepped off the porch and began following the cobblestone path back to his Ducati.

"This is their house. Who are you?"

Rick stopped and looked back at the woman. She had opened the door and stepped onto the porch. She was wearing a salmon colored, button down blouse and stone washed blue jeans that stopped just above her knees. Her emerald eyes were bright and intelligent, and the morning sun highlighted the straw in her hair and the freckles on her cheeks. Rick momentarily imagined freckles in other places too.

I'm Rick Nelson. I came—

She tilted her head, raised her eyebrows and put a silly grin on her face. "To sing Garden Party? I love that song."

Rick grinned at her tease. And I love your sense of humor, but you've reminded me that I should change my name to Clayton Moore or Steve Reeves… maybe Paavo Nurmi. Nobody under 40 would know who they were.

No, you couldn't be the Lone Ranger or Hercules. You don't have a mask or a Roman nose. You do have the lean look of a runner but I don't see that Olympic flame in your eyes.

He watched her eyes measure him and knew that she saw a tall, lean, rangy guy with sandy hair and hazel eyes. He hoped she didn't see the honed weapon he became when trouble came looking for him. Rick couldn't put his finger on why, but something told him he would want her to feel safe, not frightened to be near him.

She smiled. And you can't be Ricky Nelson either. You don't have a guitar.

"Well, I do have a guitar. It's a twelve-string Martin. But I left it with Tonto so he can record a song he calls Kimo Sabe."

Touché Rick. You have a good sense of humor too. And a twelve-string Martin. You must be a really good guitar player. Maybe someday you'll play for me?

Could happen. So how do you know the names of those characters. You look more like 25 than 40.

You look more like 30 than 40 but you're old enough to know a woman never reveals her age. I will, however, return your compliment by promising not to make any more jokes about your name.

She stepped closer to Rick and offered her hand. I’m Linda. Linda Peterson.

Rick took her hand in his, gave a gentle shake and felt electricity ripple up his arm.

So tell me why you really came.

I'm Betty's brother in law.

Bob’s brother?

No, I should have said her ex brother in law. Betty is my late wife’s sister.

Late wife. I’m sorry to hear that.

Yeah… me too. Any way, Betty asked me to hang out with Jimmy so she and Bob could spend the weekend at Catalina Island.

A frown darkened Linda’s face. That’s odd. Betty asked me to do the same thing. They left an hour ago and Jimmy is waiting for his father to pick him up. It's his father's turn to have him for the weekend.

Rick shook his head side to side and let out a long, exasperated sigh. Oh boy, here we go again. Another blind date sponsored by Betty, the queen of cupids.

The frown on Linda’ face deepened. Yes, here we go again. When will I learn.

They fell into an embarrassingly uncomfortable silence.

Rick shrugged his shoulders. Well, I'm sorry for both of us. If you'll call Jimmy to the door, I'll give him a hug and hit the road.

***

« 3 »

No. I was about to fix breakfast, then you rang the doorbell. Please join us. Are you hungry?

She had certainly passed all of his blind date tests. Rick wondered if he had somehow passed one or two of hers. Yes, my stomach’s been growling all the way down the 405.

She turned, stepped onto the porch and opened the door. Rick followed her into the house with his eyes on her braided hair, elegant neck and long, shapely legs. None of the women Betty had snookered him into meeting had pushed his buttons like that. Linda was different in all the right ways. Smart, sassy, sexy and a fine sense of humor.

When they got to the kitchen, she gave Rick a smile. Are eggs, waffles and orange juice okay with you?

Yeah. Anything but fried okra and prune juice.

Linda yelled up the stairs at Jimmy, then busied herself with their breakfast. Rick watched her move with the grace and precision of somebody who knew what she was doing. Unlike Rick, she was a magician in the kitchen.

She broke the eggs into a bowl, then gave Rick a look that told him she knew he needed to do something besides watch her.

The plates and glasses are in that cabinet up there and the silverware is in that drawer over there. She swept her arm to point at the locations. Rick was setting the table when Jimmy came down the stairs.

Papa Rick! I didn't know you were here.

Jimmy and Rick gave each other a hug and a manly slap on the back.

"You're growing like a weed, Jimmy.