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CONTENTS
The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in an entirely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“GOOD DAY IN HELL” written by Don Henley and Glenn Frey. Copyright © 1974 (renewed) Cass County Music/Red Cloud Music (BMI). All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Copyright © 2006 by J.D. Rhoades
Reissued in 2015 by Polis Books
Cover design by 2Faced Design
eISBN 978-1-940610-19-1
60 West 23rd Street
New York, NY 10010
Also by J.D. Rhoades available from Polis Books
The Jack Keller series
The Devil’s Right Hand
Good Day In Hell
Safe And Sound
Breaking Cover
Broken Shield
To my parents,
Jerry and Kay Rhoades
As before, thanks to my editor, Ben Sevier, for advice and suggestions that had me tearing my hair out during the revisions—but that made this a better book.
Sanford E. Walke IV provided valuable information on handguns for a book of mine that never got published, so I used it here. Thanks, Sandy.
For information on the first Gulf War, I am indebted to Anthony Swofford’s amazing war memoir, Jarhead, and Rick Atkinson’s Crusade: The Untold Story of the Persian Gulf War. Any factual mistakes regarding matters military are, of course, my own.
The first blow split Stan’s lip and knocked him into a stack of recapped tires at the back of the repair bay. He caught a glimpse of the bright sunlight and the road outside before his stepfather’s bulk eclipsed the light like an evil moon. The second, third, and fourth blows were softer but more humiliating, delivered as they were by the hand holding the rolled-up magazine. “This how you pay me back?” his stepfather bellowed, shaking the magazine in Stan’s face. Curled up, all Stan could see was part of a bare breast and nipple and a flash of thigh. “All I done for you?” He began punctuating his diatribe with blows across Stan’s face from the rolled-up magazine, as if Stan were a puppy who had piddled on the rug. “I (WHACK) put a ROOF (WHACK) over your HEAD (WHACK), put FOOD (WHACK) on your PLATE (WHACK), and all…” He shook the magazine in Stan’s face. “So you can sit around my business reading PORN?” He threw the magazine aside and grabbed Stan by the collar of his T-shirt.
“I didn’t—,” Stan blubbered. “It’s not—” He hated himself for the tears that sprang to his eyes. Stan was sixteen, almost seventeen, and he was almost as tall as his stepfather. But when the blows came, forehand, backhand, he was as helpless as a five-year-old before the older man’s fury. He didn’t even dare put his hands up to shield his face. Every time he had tried that, he had been beaten worse, once so badly he had lost a tooth. So he took the punishment, his guts twisting with fear and hate. He tried to make himself go far away, so it would all seem like it was happening to someone
