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Ronald M. James Books
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: James Milward
ISBN-10: 0998175625
Type: Fiction
Pages: 120
Copyright: March 6, 2017
ISBN-13: 9780998175621
Price: $10.00 (eBook)
This Novelette introduces private investigator, Samuel (Sammy) Shovel, who in one night solves a mystery that has baffled the SFPD for 40 years, by being in the wrong place at the right time.
The book introduces a host of characters who show up in future novels and their perception of each changes over the course of time. While each book is a story within itself, bits and pieces of each are woven into each book.
This book is the start of the Sammy Shovel mystery series ( a detective who finds what villain turned pure innocence into public enemy number one) The Beginning.
“James’ new book ‘An Adventurous Night’ is A Taut Mystery —Publisher’s Weekly
Synopsis:
When Sammy Shovel sinks his teeth into a case—he gets to the bottom of it— no matter how many bullets are flying at him.
Private Investigator, Sammy Shovel, is short, slightly overweight, balding, and he dresses like San Francisco’s most squalid street people. One evening at an Oakland restaurant, that he and his late partner spent their idly time by guzzling down Wild Turkey, he overhears a supposed heist falling right into his lap. Sammy foregoes dinner and jumps at the chance to make a few bucks, rather than to accept dreaded repo work again. He thought by preventing what appears to be a simple robbery from an unknown victim that he will be generously paid. However, the case turns out to be different than anything he’s taken on since the death of his partner.
Rather than stopping a robbery, Sammy becomes a witness two murders in the downtown offices of John Crowder.
The events that follow are beyond his comprehension, and will change his perception of crime forever. When a single shot from inside Crowder’s offices cuts down a thug with such procession, Sammy knows he's in a fight for his life.
Sammy and one of the killers, Crowder, who said it was an accident, are escorted to the Hall of Justice in handcuffs for murder. After several hours of interrogation they are released, Sammy races to prevent another senseless murder, but he’s too late. He confronts John Crowder, and remembers his real name is—Knuckles Malloy—an old time gangster who trained a young innocent girl, Ruth, the illegal way to acquire wealth.
Malloy and his Asian wife, Ruth, had been importing cocaine from Hong Kong for over forty years. The brain behind the scheme became his wife.
Ruth decides to swat Sammy into the realms of the unknown. But the bullets from a swat team brings her down.
The evening’s lies and maleficence excitement returns to normalcy; Sammy’s stomach growls—feed the pig.
The victim may not be as evil as she seems, but rather—a casualty of circumstances.
Author's Website: www.ronaldjamesbooks.com
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
If you want a job done properly,
It’s best to do it yourself.
December 14, 1992. 6:27 PM
“Hey Guid, we’s been waitin’ out here for over two hours!” Bennie Falippie whined as another quiver struck him. “When’s he comin’ out?”
Bennie glanced over at his partner, Guido Grotte, still shivering as the damp cold embraced him. He pulled at the collar of his coat and forced it a little higher up his neck.
“How should I know?” Guido replied, aggravated at his partner’s constant batter instead of keeping his eyes on the restaurant’s front door. “Da boss sez we do da deed tonight, here in Chinatown. Dat’s all I needs t’know—so quit askin’, already.”
They were waiting in a stolen car on Grant Street since 4:15 PM. It was mid-December, close to 6:30 PM, the sky was clear, there was no fog, and for San Francisco that was saying something, because it was so cold, it turned their vehicle into a real icebox. Their wait had been longer than either had expected.
Bennie glanced across the street for their prey. Another shiver climbed up his spine, and he felt his body temperature had to be close forty degrees. He knew his trigger finger could become numb. He tried to figure out a way to keep it slaughter robust—ready for the kill. He never murdered anyone in Chinatown before. He left that chore to the local Asian goons after all, he thought, it was their territory, while he claimed the rest of San Francisco as his turf.
The two of them disregarded the sounds of giggles and laughter that the Christmas season brought to happy shoppers therefore they were overlooked.
They ignored the stale Christmas decorations and halfheartedly strung lights that conflicted with mystic oriental colors. That combination made Grant Street shine like Glitter Gulch in old downtown Las Vegas. The holidays were a perfect example of how too much of more brought excitement to captivating patrons, yet were totally disregarded by these two harden criminals.
“Hey, don’t get sore,” Bennie said.
“Christ, you’s been askin’ me dat every ten minutes. Damn it, Bennie, you’s driven me nuts. Get da drift?”
“I’s just askin’, Guid, just askin’.” Bennie said glancing away.
“Well stop, damn it.”
“It’s freezin’ in dis stupid car,” Bennie kept on venting. He just couldn't seem to help himself.
“Then concentrate on da doorway. He’s gotta come out pretty soon.”
“I’s cold and sick of waitin’. Why’d ya heist such a cruddy old car?”
“Because it don’t stand out, Bennie. It ain’t flashy like a Caddy,” Guido replied. He turned a glare on the other man. Nothing chafed him more than to explain himself.
Imagining Bennie dressed like Smokey the Bear for Halloween: He wore an old Italian farm worker’s dirty pants, a sweat-laced shirt, and an open, outdated, single-breasted, plain moth-eaten brown chesterfield coat with a black velvet collar to partially covered his shoulder holster. Bennie’s face resembled a bulldog rather than a bear. His boots were so tattered that even homeless bums wouldn’t touch them. Bennie treated the human race as mere roving bovines, fodder for rampant pillaging as he chose.
Icy fingers of anger crawled through Guido blood as Bennie began removing and replacing cartridges in his magnum to keep his fingers loose.
Bennie twirled the cylinder several times in a slow, deliberate motion, but fast on the last cycle spin, and then he emptied and reloaded the gun again. It made an infernal rotating racket like a hamster in a Ferris wheel.
Guido got through ten minutes of Bennie’s aggravating behavior before he exploded. “Jesus Christ, will yous stop dat? You’s driven me nuts. What da hell’s gotten into you?”
“Hey, I ain’t got nuttin’ else to do! Gimme a break. I told ya, I’s gettin’ cold sittin’ in here. By the way, how d’ye know Crowder will be here?”
“Listen up, Bennie. Da boss calls me in and sez, ‘Take Bennie with ya and hit Old Man Crowder. He’ll be dinin’ at da Silver Dragon tonight. And don’t screw up.’”
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