Not Raw Enough, Book 1
Suspense Thriller
Outer Banks exporter Seth Tinsley watches in horror as friends and fellow businessmen die in bizarre accidents. His trade to an exclusive segment of Japan’s Tsukiji Seafood Market inexplicably deteriorates threatening an end to his exports. Seth is forced to step up the timing for the launch of his new aquatic technology created by his unique start-up, SAAK Inc. Seth gambles everything sure that his PELTS products will alter the hierarchy of the worldwide seafood business—especially in Japan.
Grieving its dwindling ocean resources from over-fishing in the Sea of Japan, they realized their culture continues to diminish from the loss of Hirame, the iconic fish once essential to their most sacred rites and traditions. Committed to reclaiming their culinary heritage, an ancient Japanese warrior caste pursues the unique fluke caught in the abundant waters of the Pamlico and Albemarle sounds.
A mysterious woman shows up as the Federal Seafood Inspector to the Hatteras Islands, then begins an inquiry about Seth and his businesses. Still struggling with so many unsolved murders and the loss of close friends, Seth still doesn’t believe he is targeted by an international conspiracy. When an Osaka trading company surprises him with a lucrative buy-out offer for his Kill Devil Hills, NC export company, going against his instincts, he accepts the puzzling buy-out offer.
Instead of collecting the rewards for the sale of his company, Seth ends up alone in Japan, wanted for mass murder and an expendable pawn of the US Government.
Reese had married well and most of the time, Big Red
treated him like family. Tinsley’s going-down could open up some real
opportunities. Might be the last time he’d have to act like he was actually
working at this fisherman crap.
He squatted, picked up the square-stock black pistol
from his gym bag and slipped the gun into the rear waist-band of his cut-off
jeans. Reese could hardly wait to fire the “gently used” nine-mil Berretta he’d
bought two days ago up in Norfolk from his reefer supply-guy. He twisted his
head around to peek at his butt making sure the gun was perfectly concealed by
the long shirttail of his black Metallica tank top. Satisfied with no bulge, he
climbed the six- rung ladder up to the pier.
Reese blended perfectly with the gang―the
players loitering around the bench at the center dock-hub area, all freakishly
appearing like they’d answered a casting call as mascots for the Pirate's Berth
Marina.
The clique
liked to stay near the action, but not so close that it might involve anything
like real work. They trolled more for easy hits like an impromptu tourist
charter after all the quality boats had booked-out and sailed. Or maybe a quick
dope deal, or at the very least find out a little of the inside poop on local
goings-on.
Realizing his
good-time buddies ignored him, Reese barged through the middle of the group’s
banter and parked his cooler in front of the man with a deformed hand sitting
next to the pylon supporting the center-hub. Reese pried the cooler top open
and handed out a round of nine A.M. beers.
Thinking his entrance fee paid, Reese primed the
subject he was most interested. “So, Claw, what's the scuttle-butt on those
hot-tub murders? Thought for sure they’d fry Tinsley’s worthless ass this time.
What happened?”
Claw squatted on an upturned five-gallon bucket
leaning back against the pylon. He finished off his first beer, crunched the
can into a small wad with his good hand, tossed the clump next to the cooler
then waited for round two.
Reese snorted, dug another beer out of the ice and
offered it short-armed so that Claw had to rise up off the bucket as he leaned
out with his good arm to take it. After a long guzzle, the old man belched and
now properly primed, spoke. “They made a mistake arresting him to begin with,”
Claw said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Smart folks don't cook.
You know that, or your daddy-in-law would've been burned to a crisp long ago.
“Tinsley's even sharper, bringing down that D.C.
lawyer—one of Senator Belk's partners. Old Belk still has some ass in these
parts. Word is, Seth spent a ton of money. Musta been worth it though. Judge
Doll had no choice but to let the jury bring in the not guilty.”
“Jury only took two hours, I heard,” said the
shirtless man with fish tattoos on his back. “Tinsley hardly talked none. That
D.C. guy did all his speaking for him.”
“And they just let him go — Scott-free?” Reese asked,
raising his arms.
“Why not? He didn't do anything,” Claw said. “I’ve
already told you that once. They tried to show how he was into some kinky sex
stuff and that he was balling every broad on the Islands. Didn't count for
nothing.
“Reckon Big Red had anything to do with all those
rumors about Tinsley’s love life?” Claw glanced at Reese as he finished his
beer, crushed the can and tossed the wad at Reese’s feet. He grinned and
belched again. “Had to really piss-off ole Red that Tinsley walked.”
“That D.A. kept bringing up Seth as a lady’s man,”
Fish Tattoo said. “But that D.C. Lawyer turned the trick with facts, showing
that it truly had been an accident and how Tinsley called nine-one-one so
quick, the lack of motive, and all the legal shit they do.
“Word is, both them girls actually died of heart
attack―not
drowning. That D.C. lawyer finally told the jury it was nothing but a locally
financed rail-roading that wouldn't float in any real court. Old Judge Doll had
his bluff called, couldn’t keep steering it toward a guilty verdict and
folded.”
“I guess heart attacks have become contagious now
days,” Reese said turning away to conceal his anger, then spotted a familiar
figure lugging an ice chest up the dock’s center walkway. Reese smiled and in a
loud voice announced, “Hide your women, boys. Mad-dog killer loose right here
on our docks. What’ do y’all reckon it cost to buy your way out of double
homicide now days?”
Seth strolled on, carrying his cooler while keeping
his eyes straight ahead.
“Watch yourself, Reese,” Claw whispered. “You really
shouldn’t get him riled up.”
Reese’s shrill voice punched into a demeaning tone as
he tuned up his razzing. “Hey boys, it's the wet killer, Seth. How's jail life
been for you? Find everything nice and tight?”
A few in the group laughed, encouraging another
escalation from Reese. “We ain't seen you down here in a month of Sundays. You
been too busy selling off all your stuff while sitting in the poky, ain’t ya.”
After no response from Tinsley, now only ten feet
away, Reese continued. “Hell, Tinsley, we don't even know what the hell to call
you anymore. Do you have a prison handle yet?”
Claw cautioned in a low voice, “Reese, hush your
stupid mouth, he’s not a man to trifle with.”
Undaunted, Reese added, “hell, Sethy, weren't that
long ago, you were just another bum-fuck like the rest of us—out looking for a
few croakers. Now you've become a local celebrity by croaking a few lookers.”
Reese jumped up and down shrieking in laughter as he
turned to the group. He raised his opened arms in victory. “How'd you like
that— croaking a few lookers!” He cackled again, “shit, I amaze myself
sometimes. I ought to go on the damn Comedy Channel.”
Reese glimpsed a change in Claw’s expression and
turned. Tinsley had set down the cooler and stood glaring at Reese from three
feet away.
“Enjoying yourself, Reese?”
Seth asked, his voice a death threat whispering low and deep so only Reese
could hear. Recoiling from Tinsley’s advance, Reese shuffled back two quick
steps. Seth casually peeled off his sunglasses, slid them into his shorts
pocket then filled the gap closer to Reese with one giant stride. All the
fishermen hanging around grabbed their beers then gathered a few feet behind
them leaving Reese alone looking up at Tinsley.
“You know, Reese, I know a guy who knows a guy that
could easily put you in the channel, just like you wanted. Especially since
you’ve become such a funny guy.”
As nonchalant as possible, Reese stepped back a bit
while easing both hands behind him. He had seen this look in Tinsley's eyes
once before.
Seth stepped in closer causing Reese to slither back a
bit more. In an even more menacing voice, Seth said, “you've stopped laughing,
Reese. I hope you're not losing your timing. You know, it's the death of a
funny-man to lose his timing.”
Contact might prove painful Reese decided as he
maneuvered his right hand to grab the pistol jammed in his back waist band. The
long shirttail hung lower than his reach. Reese tore at the shirt as he hopped
back another step from the encroaching Tinsley—beyond the edge of the dock and
into space.
Shrieking as he plunged from sight, Reese crashed onto
his skiff with loud thump, a snap of breaking wood, then a piercing scream.
Seth moved to the dock’s edge gazing down at Reese stretched out on his back
with his right arm pinned under him. Luckily, Reese’s head landed toward the
prow onto the piled-up cushion of the filthy gill-nets.
The horseflies immediately settled around Reese’s face
coaxing Seth’s surprised smile to spread into a wide grin which turned into a
deep resonant laugh shaking his entire body. It was the first time he’d laughed
in more than a month. The other fishermen moved to the dock’s edge and as if on
cue, joined in the laughter.
“God almighty, Reese, I’d never have guessed you could
move that fast,” Seth managed to say through his hysterical laughter. Tears now
formed in the corner of his eyes. “Even with the help of gravity, it was way
too quick. One minute you’re here, then in a blink, you freaking disappeared!
Now that’s what I call extremely funny. If we could just get that on tape, I’m
sure we could launch you on YouTube. That video would go virial for sure and
we’d all make a fortune.” Seth turned to the fishermen, “what do you think
guys?”
The men yelled a hell yeah and Seth knelt down
extending his hand to Reese as though he could reach him from six feet above.
“I’d bet your life that ole Red Beam would have loved to have seen that,
Reese,” Seth said. “Come on back up here, I'll use my cell phone and we’ll get
a re-take.”
“Fuck you, Tinsley!” Reese shouted in a screeching
squawk.
“Aw, come on Reese, don't be like that. You got your
timing back so quick with that slap-stick thing. We all thought you were
hilarious. Now you're trashing it all with that nasty talk.”
“You murdering prick. You've broken my arm.” Reese's
voice cracked, his face grimacing and contorted with pain. He tried to move his
arm to locate his gun, couldn’t bear the agony, then screamed, “when Red hears
about this, he won't let anything stop him this time. He'll make sure the judge
and those Raleigh lawyers put your ass away for good. You’ll still be denied
bail and no slick, overpaid D.C. lawyer’s gonna talk you free. We've got our
own system down here, you Yankee fuck.”
Seth stopped laughing. Reese isn't smart enough to
originate such a concept. The implications of being railroaded on the
murder charges clicked home for Seth and heat rose in his face. A fighting grin
swept across Seth's eyes and he pointed down at Reese. “After you have your
rotten bones mended, Reese, suck on up to Red and slobber a little message in
his ear for me.”
Reese shouted, “what? You gonna invite us over to bob
for naked dead girls in your hot tub?” He tried to sit up again, but the
movement amplified the agony in his arm. He whimpered with a moan as he flopped
back onto the squalid net.
“Are you listening, Reese? I don't want you to miss
any of this. Make sure you tell Red exactly what you said to me in front of
these men. That will make his day.
“And tell him this, Reese. I've ignored his lies,
intrusions and meddling in my business for the very last time. Tell him I owe
him a big one. I intend on paying him back… soon, with interest.
“Have a nice day, Reese. You really brightened my
morning. I enjoyed a good laugh at how asinine you are. Red absolutely deserves
you in his family.” Seth picked up his cooler as if it was empty and strolled
on up the dock toward the Fin Chaser tied up at the farthest slip.
Two men from the fishermen group climbed down and
lifted Reese out of the boat and helped him up the ladder. They supported him
as they walked up the pier to the Marina office so that someone could drive him
to the Medical Center over in Kill Devil Hills. Reese hung his head as he
shuffled up the dock, cussed again at Tinsley then started crying.
The other fishermen laughed and talked louder over
each other’s comments and still enjoying the entertainment value of today’s
spectacle helped themselves to the lunch and cold beers stocked in Reese’
cooler. Popping open another can of Reese’s beer, Claw laughed. “Crazy shit,
huh? Tinsley always makes this little island a lot more fun than it used to
be.”
Claw turned and reclaimed his seat on the bucket, then
gazed back down the dock. “By Neptune’s slimy balls, check out the weird
looking fuckers coming our way.” Holding his beer, Claw pointed down the dock
with his withered hand drawing everyone’s attention.
Thirty yards away, Reese began blubbering to Bull Beam
and his stout two-man crew. The fishermen group could still hear Reese
screaming from thirty yards down the dock. “Tinsley mocked me then attacked me
and then bumped me off the dock onto my skiff. The son of a bitch broke my
arm.” Reese began weeping again. “Make him pay, Bull! Make him pay.”
The three men nodded, then Bull patted Reese on the
head. Reorganizing into their wedge formation, they set a brisk pace shuffling
up the dock toward the fishermen group still loitering around the center hub
not far from the berths of the larger boats. Rapid flapping thuds from their
flip-flops carried out over the water.
Claw looked around to watch Tinsley toting the heavy
cooler and trudging toward his boat. This view brought on a giggle as his eyes
sparkled with glee.
“Perk up you bunch of hopeless drunks. This
crazy-assed spectacle ain’t near over. An impromptu act two is gonna commence
in about three minutes promising the very real possibility of a bloody finale.
This will be the epic fish-tale you’ll tell for the rest of your lives. Get
your phones out. OBX history is about to happen right here on this dock.
Not for the squeamish.”
About the Author
Randall Boleyn - Writing as a Reader.
When those first few novels transported Randall into the intrigue of other cultures and the complexity of foreign lands, his life changed forever. He wanted to experience those kinds of adventures and ended up traveling the world doing international business while living his own bizarre experiences. Realizing he wanted to create the same kind of stories he loved to read, Randall coaxed the Muse by writing, studying and learning the craft. After years of toiling with the words, the stories suddenly just seemed to happen. It was startling! It was the same joy and surprise he had relished as a reader in guessing how a plot might unfold affecting the characters' lives. He now writes with the eye and passion of creating that next great story like he would want to read.
Randall now lives in the hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia and is focused on completing the Powers Meant for Gods trilogy to publish by January 2021.
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