IMPORTANT COVID-19 UPDATES

9781458201874

Jaded Justice

by
  • ISBN13:

    9781458201874

  • ISBN10:

    1458201872

  • Format: Hardcover
  • Copyright: 2012-02-01
  • Publisher: Textstream
  • Purchase Benefits
  • Free Shipping On Orders Over $35!
    Your order must be $35 or more to qualify for free economy shipping. Bulk sales, PO's, Marketplace items, eBooks and apparel do not qualify for this offer.
  • Get Rewarded for Ordering Your Textbooks! Enroll Now
List Price: $37.95 Save up to $1.90
  • Buy New
    $36.05
    Add to Cart Free Shipping

    USUALLY SHIPS IN 3-5 BUSINESS DAYS

Supplemental Materials

What is included with this book?

Summary

Rick Butler, once a Special Forces soldier, is currently a private investigator specializing in evidence for divorce cases. He rarely encounters violence; instead, he usually finds himself neck-deep in scandal-that is, until he's hired to follow Anne Blackmon. It would have been an openand-shut case, if Blackmon hadn't ended up dead while on Rick's watch. Now, he's suspected for her murder at the behest of Dallas's Police Chief.Rick didn't know Mrs. Blackmon was mixed up in something much more serious than an affair-something involving the CIA. A group of agents are on the warpath for one last shred of revenge. The agents were involved in the Cuban Bay of Pigs offensive, but they know someone tipped off Fidel Castro about the incoming attack. Because of this leak, many of the agents' friends were killed in Cuba. Now it's time for some payback, and Rick might be a perfect diversion.The CIA agents suspect Castro was working with American mafia kingpins, who gave him classified knowledge. In order to save himself, Rick has to figure out how to prove their suspicions, how Mrs. Blackmon was involved, and what it all has to do with the Kennedy assassination. Unfortunately, the guilty party may be much closer than Rick knows, as Dallas's law enforcement comes under dangerous scrutiny that may get everyone killed.

Excerpts

Chapter One I had been observing the house since watching Anne Blackmon enter two hours earlier. It was an easy case for a private detective who had worked hundreds of divorce cases. I had been hired by her husband’s lawyer to gather the facts and document the evidence into an airtight framework. The law firm’s client was going to get this divorce and not pay one nickel in alimony. I did a lot of private detective work for Stein, Stein & Murphy PC, Attorneys at Law, and knew that they never lost a case that cost a client money. They were very good attorneys and, more importantly, they paid well for my services. The woman I had been tailing met with her companion at this house. Things appeared quiet with a light rain falling. From my vantage point I could see no movement in the house. The lights in the front of the house were turned off, but I could see a dim light reflecting on the blinds of an upstairs bedroom window. The blinds were closed tightly, trapping what appeared to be light from a low wattage lamp inside the bedroom.  The lamp gave the blinds a soft glow clearly accentuated by the dark night. I leaned back against the car door and tried to get into a more comfortable position.  Experience told me that it could be a long night and I would not be enjoying the illicit warmth and comfort I visualized was happening inside the upstairs bedroom. Pouring coffee from a well used thermos, I knew I needed to remain alert to any changes that would allow me to video evidence for my clients. Forcing my mind not to think of what was going on upstairs wasn’t easy. Not that I really gave a damn. It was not my problem what people did in their private lives.  Fortunately, a fifty percent divorce rate kept my bank account comfortably in the black. My job was to collect the evidence.  It was someone else’s responsibility to judge and act on the consequences.  Looking all around in every direction, I could see nothing moving. The street was deserted and quiet. Perhaps it was too quiet, but since I didn’t see anything I settled down and turned my focus back to the house I was monitoring across the street. Bored, half dozing, and trying to stay awake, I began listening to a tape of an old radio show through my earphones hoping this would relieve the monotony. Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the entire street, followed by a clash of thunder that was so close it rocked my car. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly I spilled the thermos of coffee all over the front of my shirt and on the seat of the car. I scrambled to recover and grabbed some paper towels I had in the glove box. Panicky, I could only think of the potential stains on my new BMW 740i. Moving inside the car wasn’t easy with my six foot, 210 pound body. It must have looked like a comic scene at the circus as I rolled out the door backward on the wet grass at the curb. My attention was directed at the spill when a sudden thunderous explosion ripped through the top floor bedroom of the house I had been watching. One third of the roof and bedroom were instantly gone and a huge orange ball of flame lit up the night sky like a Fourth of July fireworks show. I quickly hit 911 on my cell phone to summons an ambulance and the police as I started running towards the front door. It was still locked but easy to kick open. The stairs were gone, hindering immediate access to the second floor.  A neighbor arrived with an ashen look on his face that reflected the shock of the moment. After I told him that people might be trapped upstairs he yelled back that he had a ladder as he ran to retrieve it. It was at that moment that I saw what remained of a once beautiful woman in the debris just inside the doorway. She was completely nude, but over fifty percent of her body was burned black. She must have been on the stairs when the explosion occurred and never knew what happen. She moved slightly and I reached to try and pull her from the rubble, but her burned skin came off in my hands.  My stomach rolled as I grabbed my mouth and ran for the door. Vomit spewed forth uncontrollably as I hit the grass on my knees. As I looked up, I could see a man standing by my car watching me. The smile on his face raised my Irish temper a few notches.  At that moment, the neighbor returned with the ladder, and we ran inside to see if we could help. There was no time to determine the stranger’s identity. Feeling helpless inside, I returned to the front yard.  The stranger was gone. The EMT arrived quickly, but it was clear there wasn’t any need to hurry.  Uniform officers from the Dallas Police Department were on the scene and Detective Lt. Roger Burns arrived to take charge of the carnage. It appeared to be an accidental explosion possibly caused by the lightning. I didn’t notice anything that required a heavy hitting homicide detective such as Burns. I was curious why he was there. My client’s wife was obviously not going anywhere except to the morgue, therefore, there wasn’t any need for me to remain at the scene. I suddenly felt an urge for a tall glass of Jack Daniels poured over ice. Perhaps I wouldn’t wait for the ice.  Burns released me after some minor questioning, including why I was in the neighborhood.  I described the stranger I saw on the front lawn. Burns made a note, but seemed to be more concerned about my condition. After some urging for me to go to the hospital for shock and personal observation, I convinced him that I was OK and would be available for further questions at his office. Returning to my BMW I could see debris on the roof and hood from the explosion. Quickly my thoughts turned from dead bodies to anger that my car was damaged.   As I drove back to my office I began to think that perhaps my priorities were somewhat screwed up. Two people who I had been hired to tail were dead, and I didn’t see a thing. Perhaps I should be feeling some responsibility since I was hired to watch Mrs. Blackmon. However, it appeared to be an accident. Surprisingly, I felt no remorse towards the burned bodies suddenly lifeless in the wreckage.  They were just dead bodies. All I could do was become more upset about the damage to my car. The thoughts of words long spoken rang in my head. “Rick Butler, you are a self centered moron with no empathy.” I knew the words fit me perfectly. I was driven by an inner demon that made me focus only on my own selfish desires. I was still a bachelor at forty- eight with the ability to alienate people who came close. My hair was chopped short just as in my military days, but now it was mostly graying on the sides. My glasses had turned into bifocals and were needed for more than reading. Damn, I thought, I so need help!  I pressed down on the accelerator…the Jack Daniels was waiting… to hell with the ice.

Rewards Program

Write a Review