The two bull-necked men stepped to block Grant’s way, arm’s crossed. Both were well over six feet. They wore expensive suits but their bulk made them seem as if they had been stuffed into them.
Grant smiled. “I need to see Anthony.”
In unison both thugs’ eyes narrowed at the use of the name. The one on the left spoke. “There’s no one here by that name. And we’re closed.” He took a step toward Grant. “You need to go.”
Grant opened his coat enough to flash the badge clipped to his belt. “I really need to see him.” He pointed at Anthony. “Now.”
The men glowered at Grant.
“Come on fellas. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”
“You’re outa here.”
As one, both men reached out to grab Grant’s arms. They apparently intended to throw him out of the bar bodily.
Grant drove the ball of his foot into the stomach of the man on his right, then grabbed the wrist of the other man, and spun beneath his arm while keeping the grip on his wrist. The arm broke with a crack and Grant released his hold, but continued his spin a full 360 degrees, and slammed a palm into the man’s sternum. Grant followed with a side-kick and the man stumbled back until he spilled over the half wall separating the bar from the poker room Anthony occupied.
“You son of a bitch.” The second thug sprang from the floor and unleashed a vicious haymaker toward Grant’s head.
Grant stepped to the side. Using the palm of his right hand he blocked the punch on the outside of the arm, and closed his hand over the back of the man’s wrist. Grant pulled. As his attacker came abreast, he slammed his left palm onto the back of the man’s elbow. The arm snapped and the force of the blow sent him crashing headfirst into the plank wall. He fell and didn’t get up.
Adjusting his coat, Grant turned to Jaime. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Grant held up his hands and shrugged his shoulders.
Striding into the poker room, Grant pulled out a chair and sat across the table from Anthony.
Grant leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Hello, Mr. Delfuco.”
Anthony stared, the color drained from his face.
“I take it you recognize me?” Grant said
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“Hmm? What I want is to take that pen from your hand and jam it into your eye.”
“Wait a minute, now. You must have the wrong idea.” Anthony glanced toward Jaime, white FBI lettering visible through her open coat. “You can’t just walk in here and kill me for no reason. I’ve got nothing to do with that business with your family. Nothing.” The man sneered. “Besides. You aren’t a cop anymore. You’re nothing.”
Grant un-clipped his badge and tossed it onto the table. The beads of sweat that sprouted on Anthony’s brow made Grant warm and fuzzy all over.
“I run an honest establishment here. You’ve got nothing on me. Whatever you think you’ve got, it won’t stick.” Anthony smiled. “I have lawyers who eat guys like you for breakfast.”
Fists clenched, Grant’s anger brimmed, threatening to erupt. Images from the funerals, loneliness, pain, guilt, and lost possibilities raced across his thoughts causing his blood to boil. Killing this man would be justified. But he had a future now. He looked over his shoulder at Jaime and his heart rate immediately slowed. The sight of the women he loved beat back the demon of vengeance welling within him.
Grant slapped his palms on the table and stood. Startled by the noise and the sudden movement Anthony flinched. Grant reached beneath his blazer and allowed his hand to rest a moment on his gun before reaching for the cuffs in the pouch at the small of his back.
Sometimes life can turn on the smallest of things, the most seemingly insignificant of circumstances. Intercepting that case forced Grant to confront the man he always believed was solely responsible for the death of his family. In the end Jimmy Tedesco had saved Grant’s life, both literally and figuratively. The man had also restored Grant’s faith. The killer who shared a large part of the responsibility for taking everything from Grant had in the end given him his life back. What greater irony could there be?
Grant edged around the table next to Anthony, pulled him to his feet, and cuffed his arms behind his back. Grant gave the cuffs a vicious tug and pulled the man close. “You’re under arrest for the murder of my family.”
“But—”
Grant yanked on the cuffs, silencing the argument. He leaned in close and whispered in Anthony Delfuco’s ear. “Jimmy Tedesco sends his regards.”
Author’s Note
Residents and frequent visitors to Gulf Shores and Orange Beach, Alabama will probably notice that no mall exists of the type I described in the first chapter of this book. I have a special fondness for this area and wanted to use it in my story, so I took a few liberties.
Even though I portrayed a soldier as one of the villains, this was by no means intended as a criticism of our armed forces. I have the utmost respect and admiration for those that serve in our military. We all owe them a debt of gratitude we can never repay.
Also, remember, this is fiction. That means I made it up.
Thank you to my fans, friends, and family for your overwhelming encouragement and support.
About the author
Craig Alexander is a member of the International Thriller writers and served two consecutive years as a judge in their best hardcover novel competition. His first novel, The Nineveh Project, was honored with a best of Mississippi award.
He holds black belts in Tae Kwon Do, Hapkido, and Han Mu Do, and has studied many other styles. He is an instructor at Sun Bi Martial Arts in Madison, MS and has competed and trained internationally.
He loves to play tennis, watch good movies, and of course read.
He lives in Mississippi.
E-mail him at [email protected]
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