Justice Edge (Chris Seely Vigilante Justice Book 10) Read online

  Author’s Note:

  This series works best if the books are read in order.

  That said . . . if you are reading one at random, here is a brief

  BACKGROUND SYNOPSIS:

  Chris Seely is a relatively normal 42-year-old who goes to the doctor with what he assumes is a routine ailment, and receives a terminal diagnosis.

  When the shock wears off, Chris decides he’s going to make the most of the time he has left, and just go for it . . .

  As well as tie up loose ends . . . which in Chris’s case, means possibly killing off a few people who deserve it.

  So he makes a list, and he takes it from there.

  A few months in, he’s not getting any worse, and his bartender Shep suggests they may have made a mistake in the lab.

  Chris concedes that has crossed his mind too, but at this point he’s in too deep and doesn’t want to know.

  He continues to address the list with mixed success--taking into account new developments and making revisions as necessary.

  The story alternates between San Francisco and Manhattan Beach, and a couple times Chris is forced to lay low, once in Bingham, Nevada, and once in Eclipse, Arizona.

  Eventually he approaches the one-year mark with still no symptoms, and he’s reasonably convinced he’s going to be okay.

  His idea is to retire his list . . . and relax on the beach . . . but something always gets in the way.

  1 Palm the Ball

  2 Bistros

  3 Counterpart

  4 Before Proceeding

  5 Thoroughfares

  6 For Kicks

  7 Directional Setup

  8 Been Harnessing

  9 End in Gear

  10 Start Popping

  11 Back Joking

  12 Any Doofus

  13 Your Bubble

  14 Waterways

  15 Calculating It

  16 Radar Before

  17 These Flatlands

  18 Aspect

  Chapter 1

  “This doesn’t feel like it’s gonna work,” Chris said.

  “Little tight,” Ned said.

  “For Goodness sakes,” Holly said, “I’ve never heard so much hemming and hawing.”

  “Really,” Rosie said. “What it is, they’re afraid to expose their inner selves.”

  Finch said, “Okay people, let’s focus, if we may. We have our first handout.” Holly took the folder from him and distributed the paperwork.

  The only one who hadn’t said anything, pro or con, was the new guy. Ralph Salvatore.

  This was the New York guy Ned referenced last Sunday.

  Who happened to show up in Manhattan Beach, looking, as Ned put it, ‘for a little clarification’ on the events that transpired back there . . . throwing a monkey wrench on any celebration that Kenny was out of his jam on the Emma-husband deal. The Kenny part was still fine, that wasn’t it, but now you couldn’t relax otherwise.

  Those events being Chris’s cross-country excursion to Manhattan, Yonkers, and specifically a little sliver of the Bronx that you didn’t know existed called City Island.

  This was a month ago, give or take. Chris ended up maneuvering a guy named Paul Albanese’s face into a gas fired barbeque grill he was tending to on the wrap-around patio of his house on Earley Street, half a block from the Long Island Sound.

  In fact Chris hadn’t dwelled on it at the time, but the view was impressive . . . you had the bay and then the city in the distance crystal clear, you could name the famous buildings, and beyond all that you had the Statue of Liberty sticking up . . . at least he thought so, that part was a little fuzzy.

  The other thing he hadn’t focused on that night -- since it was pretty imperative to get the hell out of there -- but unfortunately had been reminded of a few times since . . . was Paulie’s flesh did give off its own aroma when it met the coals.

  At any rate . . . Chris had been doing a favor for Ned. Which would have been highly unlikely given their initial relationship . . . except Ned had gone out on a limb for Chris with the serial doofus, no apparent strings attached . . . and Ned hadn’t wanted Chris to do the favor, tried to stop him, but when it was over Ned was admittedly relieved.

  Except for now, they had this Ralph in town, which you’d categorize as logical fallout.

  Chris hadn’t known much about Paulie Albanese except that he was hounding Ned about something and it was coming to a crossroads. His guess would be Paulie wasn’t like a mafia godfather or don. . . nothing that level for God sakes . . . but he wasn’t a two-bit street thug either.

  So Chris figured he’d be opening a can of worms, and sooner or later there’d be a ripple effect, and here you were now. What could you do?

  He’d met Ralph a couple nights ago in the Crow’s Nest, the guy one of those roly-poly types who laughed a lot and his midsection jiggled, and for all you knew on the surface, it was old home week around here for Ned.

  In fact Ned had told Chris when he’d introduced them that night that they’d known each other since 3rd grade. And could Chris figure out Ralph’s nickname?

  Ralph seemed embarrassed and Chris said, “Number one, that’s a dumb question, especially with no hint whatsoever, and number two, he doesn’t want to go there.”

  “Do you?” Ned said to Ralph.

  Ralph tilted his head, like whatever, and Ned said, “The Elevator.”

  Ralph did smile a little and Chris said, “So . . . your last name, they sort of rhymed it?”

  “Sure,” Ned said, “that’s part of it. But this son of a bitch could dunk a basketball . . . I mean not in 3rd grade, but eventually. Before he gained the weight, where you see him now.”

  Ralph put a hand up. “I couldn’t technically dunk it. I could roll it over the rim.”

  Chris saw that he did have real big hands, could likely palm the ball easily, among other things, and here you had these two old buddies getting ready to tell East Yonkers playground stories.

  Chris decided he was getting too old to be dancing around stuff, and he said to Ralph, “So what brings you out here, man?” Leaving out what Ned told him about Ralph clarifying things.

  Ralph was smooth, you had to give him that. “Not much,” he said. “We’re working a real estate deal in Portland, so I’m on your coast anyway, so why not drop down and see my old friend Neddy. He’s extended the invitation, for what . . . 4, 5 years?”

  “I’ve been here 12,” Ned said. “In fact 14 counting Hollywood. You never took me up on it until now.”

  Ralph shrugged his shoulders so Chris said to Ned, “You say Hollywood? That’s when you were trying to act? I think you mentioned something about that, that first time.”

  “This guy,” Ned said to Ralph, “We first make our acquaintance on the Strand. A ladies’ beach volleyball match is underway. You believe the first words out of his mouth? How do the bikinis stay on, all the leaping and lunging and diving they’re doing?”

  “That’s a fair question,” Ralph said. “How do they?”

  “How do I know?” Ned said. “You’ll have to ask one of ‘em.”

  “A different answer than you gave me back then,” Chris said.

  “It’s nice here,” Ralph said. “You’re right, I should have visited sooner.” He was arching his head to the left slightly, where you had the view of the ocean through the middle window during the day, but even at night there were a few lights out there and you were aware of it.

  Soon Ned excused himself and headed to his corner table and met with someone, and Ralph took a seat at the bar, and you had both Cindy and Rory back waitressing tonight, which hadn’t been the case in a while, an
d it would have been a perfectly comfortable scene if it didn’t include Ralph . . .

  Now Finch was asking for a show of hands for something, and Chris couldn’t quite believe he was in this situation, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly who talked him into it.

  They were in Finch’s motel room, of all places, Finch pacing around holding a clipboard, and Rosie and Holly on the bed and Chris and Ned and Ralph in these folding chairs that Finch said he borrowed from the breakfast buffet.

  Finch said, “Good then. Do I have a volunteer to lead off?”

  “I’ll go,” Rosie said.

  What was happening, they got railroaded into a writing class. Or Chris got railroaded into it, and told Ned to join the fun, and amazingly Ned did, and he recruited Rosie.

  They had found out this guy Finch was a semi-famous writer once -- meaning back in the 80’s when books were a bigger deal -- and Holly had started looking at him as a mentor, and admittedly Chris got in the act as well, trying to get him un-stuck on that final novel he supposedly had in him, called Monte something-or-other.

  Then it started as a joke, this part, Holly telling Finch, “Hey, you should teach a little workshop” and Finch laughed it off like you’re out of your mind . . . and that was a couple weeks ago, and here everyone was.

  Looking around the room -- and man, it was stuffy in here -- the one component you wouldn’t have pictured was Ralph. Even Ned, you figured okay, he might have a story or two in him, but Ralph . . . and Chris figured it was Ned dragging him along, or it may have been as simple as Ralph was bored tonight.

  This was a Friday evening, April 6, 2018, now -- 14 months since he’d gotten his diagnosis . . . or 427 days to be exact . . . and Chris was feeling a notch more confident every week, that he was out of the woods . . . and fine, he’d gone along with Finch’s pre-first class assignment and written a one paragraph summary of a novel he could see someone writing about him.

  It wasn’t very good, he hoped he wouldn’t get laughed at -- but meanwhile he had to admit it could be interesting to hear what the others came up with -- and Rosie stood up and cleared her throat and started off.

  ‘If a person wrote a novel about me he would make me one of those performers you see at the circus who fly on the trapeze. When I was 8 my mom took me. It was downtown, the Garden. The announcer was very loud. Not just for the high trapeze part but for all of it. After, my mom complained about the noise to some person and they gave her a number to call. I don’t remember this. She told me a lot later.’

  People shifted around a little, and Chris assumed they were waiting for more -- which he was too -- and then it took Rosie a minute to sit back down, which added to the possibility -- but then she did plop back onto the bed.

  Finch cleared his throat and said, “Well, Rose . . . I call that a wonderful start.”

  Jeez, him now with the Rose business too, and this was the thing, Chris already felt a bit out of the loop . . . even though it was he who started the dang loop, bringing Rosie here from West Harlem to ostensibly get a fresh start, and being the one to hook up with Finch too, when he asked him to hold the valuables on the pier as a prelude to he and the other idiot jumping off it.

  “I second that,” Holly said, pinching Rosie on the shoulder. “Wonderful premise, I’m seeing several directions the line can take.”

  “Well thank you so much,” Rosie said.

  “What happened when your mom complained?” Ned said.

  Chris said, “Yeah that. And the line?”

  “Storyline,” Holly said. “Plot points. And whether we’re talking omniscient narrator, stream of consciousness, or another point of delivery. It’s all fascinating.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Chris said.

  “I agree,” Ralph said, who you didn’t expect to hear from. “But anyways,” he said, “I like the set up. Reminds me when my Uncle Rocky took us there, we’s about the same age. Took the train from Eastchester to 42nd Street, then we had to walk though.”

  “Same thing then!” Rosie said. “Me and everyone, we took the 1 train. Though you could change to the express at 96th.”

  “Where’d you grow up at?” Ralph said.

  “Let’s stay on course, if we may,” Finch said. “Not that the backstories aren’t interesting, but who is next?”

  “I’m fine,” Holly said, and she stayed seated on the bed and pulled a folded up paper out of her purse. She seemed tense.

  ‘I’m a wife in a bad relationship. The setting is 1950’s Culpeper, Virginia. My husband is cheating on me, and barely attempting to disguise it. I wish to cheat on him too, but I’m unable to . . . and it proceeds from there.’

  Again you could hear Finch clear his throat. This time he paced a bit more and you assumed he was formulating some positive commentary, but meanwhile Ned spoke up. “I like it,” he said.

  “I do too,” Chris said.

  “That makes three,” Ralph said. “I’d keep reading, at least ‘til it slowed down.”

  Finch said, “An interesting point. How would it proceed to slow down ineffectively, in your view?”

  Rosie said, “Why can’t the woman cheat on the man?”

  “I haven’t established that yet,” Holly said.

  “You mean, she wants to,” Ned said, “but can’t come up with a willing partner?”

  “Or she’s screwed up physically,” Chris said, “and has the partner, but can’t.”

  “Or mentally maybe too,” Rosie said. “She wants to . . . howyoucall . . . intellectually . . . but there’s a little lightbulb that holds her back.”

  Holly said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way -- but Gosh, that may be the best one.”

  “Which one were you leaning toward?” Chris said.

  “Ned’s way. But I see now, that was dull and clicheed compared to Rosie’s way.”

  Ralph said to Finch, “Answering your question. It would slow down when she started thinking about stuff too much, instead of doing shit.”

  Chris said, “Why the Culpeper, Virgina? You ever been there? I mean, is it even a real place?”

  “I have not,” Holly said, “but I believe I’ve heard of it, so it must be real.”

  Ned said to Holly, “You ever been to a shrink?”

  And more shifting around and another throat or two being cleared, and Holly said, “That’s a nervy question. I’d ask what gives you the right, but I guess I don’t mind.”

  “No need to upset the apple cart, hon,” Finch said. “No one’s unwillingly on stage here.”

  Chris didn’t care for the hon, but it was what it was, Finch was a harmless old guy with some new life injected into him, and it wasn’t surprising that he and Holly had developed a benevolent-uncle relationship.

  Holly said, “I’m fine with it. We’re among friends, I feel . . . Yes, I’ve been in therapy.”

  Ned took a moment. “Only reason I ask,” he said, “your type set-up, isn’t it what the psychoanalytical folks have a field day with?”

  “I see what he’s saying,” Ralph said, “could there be more to it.”

  “Like a dream you mean,” Rosie said. “How would it be explained? Like you’re a human being, now, in this room . . . but you go a different direction, and create a different world -- but it’s still you in it -- and what’s the reason?”

  “Oh boy,” Chris said.

  “I’d love to say that I’ll ask my therapist for an interpretation, but we cut ties two years ago,” Holly said.

  “Good move,” Ralph said, “you look fine.”

  “He’s probably right,” Ned said.

  “Could very well be,” Chris said.

  “Next?” Finch said.

  “I got it,” Ned said, and he stood up, and found what he needed on his phone and started reading.

  “My guy -- you want it to be me, so fine -- my guy’s Czechoslovakian. On his 21st birthday he gets a trip together, go back there and find his roots. (I shoulda said, he lives in Florida.) The problem being though, there isn’
t any more Czechoslovakia. He finds out they dissolved it. There was a revolution in 1992, it turns out, which he should have paid attention to in school, but didn’t -- and they disposed of the place . . . or deposed it -- or the government -- however you phrase it. So anyways he gets to the airport, finds this out, and the check in girl is quite nice, explains they didn’t get rid of it, exactly, they just split it into two. My guy gets this, but it’s not the same, finding his roots is shot, and he doesn’t want to travel. But he asks the check in girl how about we get a drink when you get off work.”

  Ned waited. Holly spoke first. “That’s a novel?” she said.

  “In there somewhere I was thinking, unh-huh,” Ned said. “No?”

  “I think it’s brilliant,” Finch said, and you could see him right away regretting the use of that word, implying he liked it better than the other two.

  “I wish I thought of it,” Rosie said. “In a different form of course.”

  “I think it’s a bunch of gobbledy gook,” Chris said, “but I have to go next.”

  “So your honest opinion is worse?” Ned said.

  Chris said, “My honest opinion is -- all that build up, when all your guy is seeking out . . . is a piece a ass.”

  “I would agree,” Ralph said.

  “Well I wanted to redirect it that way, yeah,” Ned said. “I don’t know enough about other countries to keep it interesting.”

  Finch said, “Chris, can you conclude for us tonight?”

  “Do I have to stand?” Chris said. “Because I really didn’t have a chance to put much thought into this.”

  “Listen to this guy,” Ned said.

  “Yeah, now the shoe’s on the other foot,” Holly said. “We had more time than you?”

  “Yes get real Chris,” Rosie said. “Our ones so far, they sounded like we worked on them for days?”