WELCOME TO THE JASPER RIDGE OUTPOST:

Excerpt
Prologue II:

Raging Bull/Probationary Conditions

“Honestly, Chief, I…think you might’ve had enough. What say you head on back to the barracks and take in a ballgame? I hear the Bears ‘n Packers are about to tee it up on that there frozen tundra…” the bartender chided good-naturedly, though being extra cautious as to keep several feet of space between himself and the bar.

“Appreciate the concern, Pete…it certainly does ya justice,” came the gruff reply, only slightly slurred, “now quit playin’ nursemaid and pour me another Jack and Coke. Hell, on second thought, hold the Cola. I hear all that carbonation turns the gut-linin’ into Swiss cheese.”

“You’re the boss,” the bartender replied sheepishly, dispensing a double-shot over freshly placed ice while eyeing three new arrivals who had sauntered up so quietly as if to purposely catch his client off-guard.

“Get something for you gentlemen?”

The first man, and easily largest in stature of the trio, waived him off with a gloved hand, the overhead strobe lights reflecting off diamond gauntlets. The other two backed away several steps and struck textbook ‘at ease’ poses. Adorned with matching crew cuts, stocky, muscular physiques and equally sour dispositions, both were dressed in identical uniform garb complete with silver insignia names tags sewn above the right pockets and spit-polished steel-toed boots.

“No thank you, good sir. Unlike some present, true professionals such as my companions and I abide by the set rules of the facility, most notably the one damning the consumption of alcoholic beverages while on duty.”

Purposely ignoring the statement while looking past the speaker, the man emptied his glass in two quick gulps before sliding it approximately half-way down the bar in the bartender’s general direction.

“There ya go, Pete. How’s about a Southern Comfort Breeze this time around…and oh yeah…omit the breeze.”

Wiping the building fop-sweat from his forehead with a bare forearm, the bartender flinched as though he’d been slapped across the backside with a drenched, tightly-wound towel.

“Uh…um…Chief, I don’t think I…can...I mean…not while…um….”

“See to your other customers, Mister Chapman,” the spokesman for the newest arrivals announced calmly, taking the seat directly to the left of the man previously being served, “we’ll take care of the Chief here. Make sure he gets back to the barracks without harming either himself or anyone else along the way. Isn’t that right, Chief Thomason?”

“Tell ya what, blockhead,” Ben Thomason snarled, intertwining his freakishly oversized fingers and applying just enough pressure in order for the explosive retort of cracking knuckles to drown out all surrounding sound, to include the pop music tune blaring overhead.

“I’ve got a better notion. How’s about you and the butt-munch twins there mind your own P’s and Q’s and leave your superior officer to his mid-day meditation? I’ll only ask once, that is…I’ll only ask once…politely.”

The other man scooted closer, leaning down and in until his cowl-covered visage was mere inches from Ben Thomason’s left ear.

“Now, Chief, there’s no reason for baseless name-calling or physical threats. We’re just…concerned for your well-being. Then again, there is the matter of the non-professional behavior on display for all…shall we say, lower-ranking patrons to see. Not exactly the example we want to set, now is it?”

Snorting aloud, Ben then tossed his head back and howled in baying coyote fashion, causing the other man to flinch as if warding off an impending slap.

“Concerned for my well-being? I’d lay ten to one you’ve had me on electronic-report since strollin’ into the bar. Ya really outta think about officially changin’ that hero moniker from Eighth Degree to Narc-Man or maybe Captain Squeal? Be a helluva lot more accurate. Now, for the last time…I’m requestin’…no, make that a di-rect order…step away and depart my personal space.”

In response, the twin brutes visibly tensed while the larger man hardly twitched, the corners of his mouth upturning ever-so-slightly in sardonic glee.

“What exactly are you proposing, Chief?”

“ I’m proposin’ you adhere to a superiors command or prep for pain, asshole. Your choice…just remember while yer suckin’ peas and carrots from a straw that I gave ya one. Same goes for Frick and Frack standin’ back there sniffin’ your shorts.”