Tested daniel briggs boo.., p.1
Tested (Daniel Briggs Book 4), page 1
Tested
C. G. Cooper
Contents
“Tested”
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
“Tested”
A Corps Justice Daniel Briggs Novel
Copyright © 2017 C. G. Cooper. All Rights Reserved
Author: C. G. Cooper
Editors: Andrea Kerr & Cheryl Hopton
GET A FREE COPY OF THE FIRST NOVEL IN THE DANIEL BRIGGS SPINOFF SERIES JUST FOR SUBSCRIBING AT:
http://CorpsJustice.com
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.
Any unauthorized reproduction of this work is strictly prohibited.
Dedications
In memory of Craig Crossman, a loyal member of Team Cooper. We’ll miss you, but hope you’ll continue to sprinkle us with your blessings from Heaven. God Bless.
To my faithful readers: thank you for allowing me to continue this awesome writing journey. I could not do this without you.
- CGC
Chapter One
The first sip is my favorite. It always reminds me of the first kiss on a first date. It reminds me of one gentleman tipping his hat to another. It reminds me that there is an answer, and that answer can always be found at the bottom of the bottle, like a toy in a Cracker Jack box or a message in a fortune cookie.
I savored that first sip from the paper coffee cup. As I gazed over the vista of the Las Vegas strip from my cramped seat I saw only opportunity. I'd given up drinking, but somewhere between Seattle and San Francisco, a bottle of Jack Daniels had reappeared in my hand. I'd kicked the habit, and yet there was my old friend Jack, nestled in the crook of my arm. I’m sure if Jack could talk he’d say it was good to be back, and to have the buds reunited, hoping I would never again leave him behind. It was in those moments that I thought I could control him and the cravings. Like I said, everything seemed right with the world.
"Hey, Mister, can I have a drink?"
I turned to find a little boy sitting next to his sleeping mom. As far as I could remember, they’d boarded somewhere around Los Angeles. Up to this point he'd left me alone, talking with the rest of the passengers. They'd already been afforded the luxury of his eager questioning.
Now as he stared up at me, I wondered how a kid could be so uninhibited with strangers. His mom was lying next to him, and from her appearance, it looked like she'd worked every night shift since 1982.
"Sorry. It's just for adults," I said.
"Is it that stuff that burns? Mom said it burns a lot."
Did Mom have an alcohol problem, or had she kicked it like I had?
"Yeah, it burns," I said.
Not that I really wanted to dissuade the kid from having a future drink, but he was closer to five than fifteen. I felt it wise to be the good adult.
The kid stared at the bottle, looking like he was formulating another question. He wasn't put off by my demeanor. I didn’t try to hide the fact that I wanted to be left alone. Except for the bus driver, I’d not said a word to anyone since Berkeley.
"We moved," the kid said quickly, like it was something he wasn't supposed to say.
"Did you live in Los Angeles?" I asked, surprising myself by extending the conversation.
"California," he corrected me.
"Right, California. Did you like California?"
He shrugged, again averting his eye. "Pete says it's always hot in Las Vegas. Is it always hot in Las Vegas?"
I wondered who Pete was.
"It depends on the time of year."
"Like because of the seasons?" he asked, brightening.
"Yeah, the seasons."
"Mom says we get to live in a hotel and that they're going to have donuts and waffles and granola bars."
He licked his lips, and I noticed his slightly hollow cheeks. After looking closer, I saw the dirt caked under his fingernails and his clothes appeared two sizes too small. Then I looked over at his mother, staring back at me, having roused from sleep. She did not regard me with hate or embarrassment, but rather with a look of resignation. The look reminded me of the look dogs have after suffering one too many beatings, before they give up the will to fight back.
"Nathaniel, leave the man alone," the mother said, her voice hoarse from sleep.
"But, Mom, I was just—"
"Nathaniel."
"It's okay, ma'am. He was just telling me about moving to Las Vegas. I'm the rude one. Nathaniel, my name is Daniel."
"Nathaniel and Daniel. That rhymes," the boy said, proud of himself for making the connection.
"Nathaniel, are you a betting man?" I asked.
"What's betting?" the boy asked.
"Let's say I ask you a question, and you get that question right. If you do, you win a prize."
"Wow, really? What kind of prize?"
"That's a surprise," I said.
"Prize and surprise. You rhymed again."
Nathaniel reminded me of a PFC in my last unit. He was from Chicago, and he would never shut up. Questions and rhymes, always the rhymes, although his rhymes were of the vulgar pedigree. I couldn't remember his name now, and the last time I'd seen him both of his legs had been blown off. I shoved that memory away and refocused on Nathaniel.
"So, Nathaniel, are you a betting man?"
The boy nodded eagerly.
"Okay," I said. "What state is Las Vegas in?"
Nathaniel scrunched his eyes shut, thinking hard. His palms tapped on his thighs until he sprang up out of his seat, his mouth bursting open, and said, "Nevada! Las Vegas is in Nevada!”
"That's right. You win the prize."
"Mom. Mom, Daniel says I win a prize. What is it?"
I turned toward the window so he couldn't see what I was doing. I pulled out my wallet and slid out a couple bills. I wrapped the larger one in a one-dollar bill and then handed it to Nathaniel. "It's all yours, kid, but why don't you let your mom hold on to it for safekeeping?"
The boy held it up like he had won an Olympic medal. Then, dutifully, he handed it to his mother, and I wondered if that was a routine. He had done it so naturally. Usually kids don't like to give up their prizes.
I watched the mother give Nathaniel a tired smile, and then she took the money. She unwrapped the bills to prep them for insertion into her voluminous purse when her eyes went wide. She'd found the one hundred-dollar bill. I put my finger to my lips when she looked at me. Nathaniel didn't need to know. She mouthed a silent “thank you.” There were no tears in her eyes. Maybe she was used to getting handouts, but I saw real gratitude there. For some unknown reason, I knew that unless that money was pried from her hands, she would use it to take care of her boy.
She tucked the bills into a secret corner of her purse, nodded at me once, and then closed her eyes.
I hadn't been to Las Vegas in years, not since the crazy weekend after we completed training at Twentynine Palms. The years might have improved the landscape, now filled with new hotels, shinier cars, and more gamblers, but to me it all felt the same. The dry air, mixed with the enticing pull of possibility, greeted me as I stepped off the bus. Nathaniel and his mother followed a few moments later.
The boy tugged on my sleeve. "Hey, Daniel, do you want to come visit us?"
His mother didn't seem to notice. She was scanning the loitering crowd at the bus station looking for something or someone.
“Maybe I'll see you around. You save some of those waffles for me, okay?"
"You like strawberries or just syrup?"
I couldn't help but smile. "Both."
"Okay, strawberries and syrup. I'll save you some.”
I stuck out my hand. He took in his little hand like we had just closed a multimillion-dollar deal.
"You take care of yourself, Nathaniel."
"I will."
Then they were off with Nathaniel being dragged along by his still-searching mother. He waved at me, and I waved back, and then went in search of a vending machine. The booze was getting to me now.
Lightweight, I thought, bouncing my paper cup into a trash can. Then for some reason I took my bag off my shoulder, unzipped it, and extracted the bottle of Jack Daniels. If Jack had a face, he would have been smiling at me at that moment saying, "Come on, buddy. L et's go have some fun.” It was the old battle waging inside me, igniting like a stick of dynamite.
Where had I gone wrong? I had kicked the habit. Now here it was again. My vigilance had been lulled into complacency. And my old friend slipped in—my partner in crime. I thought of all that had happened over the previous months and all the progress that I had made, and it made me feel ashamed. I had never been to treatment or a single AA meeting. I didn't need that. At least that's what I told myself. I had been through the hardships of war and had come out the other side unscathed. Again, that was another little lie I liked to tell myself. Unscathed in the physical sense maybe, but there was more than one way to be damaged or injured.
I closed my eyes and pushed away the urge to put good old Jack back in my bag. Instead, I gave my old friend a respectful nod and tossed him in the trash.
Freed from that burden for the time being, I resumed my search for a vending machine. With the alcohol gone, I had a sudden craving for a candy bar. A Baby Ruth was my favorite, but a Snickers would do in a pinch. I never found the vending machine.
Instead I found Nathaniel and his mother. She was speaking to two men. I might have been oblivious to the tension if I hadn’t noticed her shielding Nathaniel behind her. She had him pinned in place with both of her hands. I moved closer to better hear what was being said.
The first words from the men assaulted my ears.
"We didn't say nothing ‘bout no boy."
"But I couldn't leave him."
"I don't give a shit what you do with him. The deal struck was for only you."
"He won't be any trouble, I promise. He's a good boy."
The man was looking around now as if he sensed an enemy’s presence. Then he refocused on Nathaniel's mother. Anger turned his huge head and meaty forearms a dark red.
"Now, you listen here, bitch—”
"Hey, Nathaniel," I interrupted.
Nathaniel and the two men turned to face me, but Nathaniel's mother's eyes remained locked on Meaty Forearms.
"Hey," Nathaniel said, his earlier exuberance having evaporated.
"I was going to take one of those sightseeing tours of the city, and I wondered if you and your mom wanted to tag along.”
"Wow. Hey, mom, can we? Can we?"
His mother didn't say a word.
Meaty Forearms glared at me. "Move along, asshole.”
The Beast inside of me began to stir, stretching its muscled body, easing to its feet. I had been called an asshole a thousand times before, so the word didn't bother me. Rather, it was the reaction it had elicited from Nathaniel. It had been like watching a light doused and his spirit broken that evoked the vengeance I now sought. His countenance echoed his mother’s facial expressions.
Meaty Forearms stepped around mother and son. He pointed his grimy finger in my face, but I didn't move. Inside me, The Beast was spinning circles like a caged animal; it begged to be let out. Meaty Forearm’s finger stabbed at my chest. I knew he was going to say something like, "You have no idea who you're dealing with," or "You'd better get out of here before I kick your ass."
It was only natural because he was protecting his turf. He was used to being the man in charge. Well, he and his trusty sidekick, Crazy Hair, that is. But they'd never met me before. Before the words could leave his mouth, his thick finger was trapped in my vice-like grip. He found himself on his knees in less than a second, looking up at me with a look of pain in his bulging eyes.
"Say you’re sorry," I said calmly.
"What?" he asked stupidly.
My hand flexed, and his finger snapped with a sickening crunch.
"Sorry. I'm sorry."
"Don’t say it to me. Tell Nathaniel and his mother."
The Beast was calling to me now, begging me to lash out, pummel the man, put him in his place. Not yet, I assured it.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."
I let go of his finger, and the man cradled his damaged appendage. He stood on shaky legs and glanced over at Crazy Hair.
That was all it took. Crazy Hair’s hands were already balled up, ready for the fight. He rushed at me with five long strides. To me, it felt like a mile. He broadcast every move with the staggering hitch in his step. He overcompensated with his other leg. He was a bigger man, accustomed to using his size to take down his opponents. It was apparent that at least one of his opponents had gotten the best of him. He had one bum leg.
Should I make it two?, I thought, as I stepped to the side at the last possible moment, and delivered a solid, yet not quite crushing, blow to his handicapped knee. Na. One will do. As the pain exploded in his knee, he toppled to the ground like I'd just chopped down a tree. Timber.
Meaty Forearms looked like he wanted to rejoin the fight. When he looked at me, I shot him a glare that negated any action and cut off any further remarks. Whether it was the steely look I had given him or the crowd that had started to gather, he thought better of his chances. Instead, he chose to help his hobbled friend, and they left in a battered pickup truck.
Once they were gone, Nathaniel resumed his bubbly personality again. "Wow, Mom. Did you see that? Daniel’s like a superhero."
Even my actions didn't make Nathaniel’s mother smile. She had been through similar confrontations before, and she knew the future inevitably had more in store.
"I was going to catch a cab into town. You guys want to come along? It’s my treat,” I said. Nathaniel looked at his mother, who nodded.
Only after the cab pulled away from the bus station did I realize Nathaniel’s mom had lost her deal. She was staring out the window with vacant eyes. Whatever arrangements she had made before venturing to Las Vegas had vanished because of my actions.
I had come to Las Vegas for a fresh start. Sure, there had been a little hiccup along the way with old buddy Jack trying to nudge his way back into my life, but I still was on a fresh start. Why Vegas? Call it the warped mind of a Marine, a grunt who gets a strange kick out of volunteering for the toughest things.
I'd looked at a map of the United States, and there it was, a siren calling to me with neon accents: Sin City. A bastion of sin and greed to many, but to me it represented opportunity. I had no idea what that opportunity was other than a challenge - something I relished.
I wanted a fresh start and a place where no one knew my past. Part of me wanted to dump Nathaniel and his mother at the next stop. Maybe I’d give them another hundred bucks and wish them well. I had my fresh start to protect. That didn’t include looking after some kid or his mother who looked like a washed-up diner waitress.
I watched Nathaniel try to get a better view of the city by bouncing in his seat. I knew I couldn’t just leave them. I had been the protector, and as much as I tried to run from that, I always got sucked back into that vortex. It was as if the universe was saying, "Daniel Briggs, I know what you want to be, but this is what you will be." Thus, I went along with the universe's plans. Little did I know that staying with Nathaniel and his mom would lead me on the most dangerous path of my life.
Chapter Two
“Were those friends of yours?" I asked, trying to remember Nathaniel's mother's name. I realized I hadn’t asked her name yet.
"I was supposed to be working for them," she said. "But now—”
“I'm sorry if I screwed things up for you, but I'm not sorry that I stepped in."
She shook her head like it didn't matter. "It's probably for the best. A friend back in L.A. hooked me up with them, but you're probably right. I guess I should have been upfront about Nathaniel. Besides, I could smell the booze all over them."
"What's booze, Mommy?"
"Don't worry about it, honey. I'll find another job, and we'll be just fine. What do you say we go get some ice cream when we get there?"
"Where are we going? Can I have chocolate with sprinkles?" Nathaniel asked.
"Sure," she said.
The taxi driver decided to butt into the conversation. "Hey, if you're looking for a job, my sister's a maid over at The Mirage. She said they're looking for more girls. The pay's not super great, but at least it's a start. Ask for Sheila, and tell her Bernard sent you."
There didn't seem to be any ill intention in Bernard's voice so I kept my mouth shut. Or maybe I just kept my mouth shut because otherwise Nathaniel's mother might smell the booze on my breath. Had Nathaniel's father been a drunk?
