When a string of racially motivated attacks hits someone close to him, homicidal pit boss Jennings Kavenaugh is out for revenge. Jennings Kavenaugh is a pit boss at the Royal Flush Casino in Detroit. His job affords him certain opportunities. After his father took his own life because of gambling debt, Jennings developed a real hatred for those harboring a gambling addiction. His position as pit boss allows him freedom to spot the addicts-and eventually kill them, believing it's for the greater good. Oddly, one of Jennings's closest friends is Detective Nate Jackson, who has no clue Jennings is the guy responsible for so many dead gamblers. Now, a string of racially motivated attacks perpetrated by a violent gang of young, white men catches the attention of the Motor City. Jennings wouldn't have gotten involved, but then the gang targets a member of Jennings's inner circle. While Nate investigates, Jennings plots revenge. As Jennings sets his personal agenda aside for the moment and tracks down the white supremacists intent on beating and humiliating Detroit's minorities, he fears Nate might be onto him. If his best friend realizes the true nature of his murderous habits, things could get complicated-or deadly.
Brother's Keeper
A Pit Boss TaleBy Michael OddeniUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Michael Odden
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-6232-1Chapter One
11:49 P.M. Detroit, Michigan
It was late February when the black Econoline van was creeping along Woodward and Six Mile.
"Hey, what about him?"
"Yeah Mikey, he'll do just fine."
"C'mon, y'all. That geezer's got to be about 60!"
"Even better. It shows that no one is out of range."
The van pulls to the curbside and two thugs jump out and grab the old man, throwing him into the open side door. The thugs hop back in and the van pulls off as smoothly as it pulled up.
"What the hell's goin' on? Who the hell are you?"
"Shut the fuck up, mud!"
A thunderous gut punch makes the old man double over in the seat.
"Now what, Frankie? What are we going to do with the geezer?"
"Now we go for a ride."
The old man tries to gather himself and begins talking.
"You young fellas don't have to do this. I ain't got no money. I'm just a tired old man."
"Shut the fuck up before I pop you again!"
"Well boy, the way I see it you already done hit me once, took me against my will, and made me spill my drink. Shit, before I go you may as well tell me why."
A new voice comes in from the driver's seat.
"Fair enough, old timer. You minorities have slowly destroyed this country. Lazy, shiftless bastards always trying to get something for nothing: food stamps, WIC, always with the hands out. Because of your kind, good, hardworking people like my old man get laid off. It's time for the country to see that people are fed up."
"That's some of the dumbest shit I have ever heard. You want to blame the problems of this country on the minorities? You dumb-ass kids don't pay attention to nothing. How can minorities be the problem when your people run the country? For eight long years Bush and the `Publicans fucked this country good. And not just your people, but all the people. The `Publicans don't care about white or black, all they care about is the green."
"Mud, you can't deny the dope dealers and gang bangers selling that crack and killing people over territory, sneaking into the country and taking all the jobs."
"You got it all wrong, son. Nothing goes on without the government knowing about it. You think they couldn't stop people from coming into this country if they really wanted to? Fact of the matter is, they know those workers that come over are cheap labor. It's always about the money.
"The problem is that before they were just taking the low end jobs, but now they come over with serious skills: carpentry, electrical and such. And you try to talk about the punks selling that crack rock, but you forget to mention your own kind making and selling that crystal meth shit, turning all the pretty little white girls into raggedy-mouthed hoes. Naw, what's going on in the world ain't classified by color, it's just pure evil. The devil is coming.
"The world is in a moral decline and greed is everywhere, along with stupidity. Young kids walking around with their ass hanging out cause they saw some thug like that. What they don't know is that thug was in jail and his ass couldn't wear a belt.
Women swearing up and down they don't need a man, choosing to be with a woman instead. But then they turn around and want a kid. Yeah boy, evil is coming."
The van pulls in under a viaduct on the southwest side and comes to a halt.
"It's time. Get his old ass out and fuck him up!"
The two thugs in the back grab the old man and fling him out of the van. Then they lay down a god-awful beating. Afterward, the leader hops out of the van, walks over to the beaten and bloody old man, unzips his pants and pisses all over him.
"Damn Frankie, that's some nasty shit."
"That ain't shit, at least not yet it ain't. You two go do what I told you to and give me a little privacy."
* * *
Every morning at 6:30 Sean Jester takes his dog for a walk.
They walk over to the park where Sean lets Bogart stretch his legs and handle his business. While on their stroll, Bogart seemed a little agitated and pulled Sean in a different direction. Bogart led Sean to the viaduct where they found a bloody body. Sean immediately called Bogart away and ran home to call 911. Twenty minutes later he could hear the ambulance and police arrive. The EMTs quickly learn that the bloody body is still alive and scramble to keep it that way. The police officers canvass the area and realize that this wasn't an ordinary beat down.
"Shit, Eddie. This is way above my pay grade. I'm calling the sarge."
"Sounds good. I'm just going to get some pictures of the area."
Officer Skelokowski makes his way back to the squad car and radios the sarge.
"Car 87 to base. Car 87 to base."
"Go ahead, 87."
"Better patch me straight to the sarge base. What I got to say he ain't going to like at all."
"You got it, 87."
Moments later Sgt. Kettles chimes in.
"What's so damn important, 87?"
"Sir, we were sent out to the southwest side on that beating call. Well it looks like this thing is racially motivated, sir. There appears to be a fresh message painted on the wall and it reads `Death to all the mud races!'"
"What!?"
"Yes sir, and there's more. The victim appears to have been pissed and shit on."
"Aww, fuck! You two seal off the area and hang tight until you hear back from me. Do not fuck this up. No one in until I give the word. Where are the EMTs taking him?"
"He's headed straight to Receiving Hospital."
"Alright. Out."
Sgt. Kettles sits and ponders the situation for a minute and then puts in a call to an old friend, Captain Dave Stevens.
"Dave, this is Kettles over at the 3rd."
"Greg, what's up?"
"I have a problem that's got your name written all over it. A couple of my guys got a call on this side of town about a beating, only it might be much more. It may have some real racial shit attached to it. I'm talking straight civil rights shit. Anyway, me and my guys aren't prepared to handle this type of shit so I was hoping you would do me a solid. Plus, if this shit turns out to be the real McCoy it's going to fall in your lap sooner or later. Got a body you can spare?"
"Geez Greg, my stats are already fucked up. I don't know if I can handle another hit."
"C'mon, Dave. You guys are always looking for the sexy cases. These newbies aren't ready for all the drama yet. I know you got someone over there who can run with this."
"You're right, I'll send you one of my studs, Nate Jackson. I swear the kid's part Bloodhound. Let me get him on the horn and I'll have him call you."
"Thanks, Dave. I swear if this kid can handle this I'll owe you big time."
After hanging up the phone Dave placed his face in his palms and sighed. He then got up and walked over to his office door, peeked out, and yelled.
"Where's Jackson?"
One of the many voices in the division cried back.
"Not in until 10 AM."
"Call his ass and have him call me ASAP. I have a job for him."
Nate Jackson lie sprawled all over his queen size bed in a peaceful slumber, dreaming about the one that got away. When the phone rang it shocked him so he was immediately sitting up.
"Hello!?"
"Jackson, the boss wants you to call him ASAP. That's police for: wake the fuck up and get your ass on the phone."
"But I'm not due in until 10."
"He's got something just for you."
Jackson gathered himself and moved over to his kitchen table. Still shaking off the sleep he put in a call to his boss.
"Hey boss, wassup? You do now I'm...
