Scared silent, p.1
Scared Silent, page 1
part #5 of Tony Valenti Series
Praise for the Tony Valenti Thrillers
* A House on Liberty Street *
Turner hits the mark in a spellbinding, page-turning thriller featuring a worthy underdog hero and prose that tugs at the heartstrings. The author has a great sense of plot and timing. IndieReader 4.5 Star Review
* * *
Neil Turner unravels an ever-deepening drama that exposes the lengths one man will go to protect his family in A House on Liberty Street, a suspenseful and heartfelt thriller. Tapping into evocative themes of family, fatherhood, and second chances, this is a fast-paced read with a clever protagonist ducking and dodging in a classic pursuit of justice. The storytelling is casual but compelling, with memorable characters, intriguing dynamics, and an unpredictable case for readers to piece together. …there are also touching moments of paternal wisdom and honesty that shine… A House on Liberty Street is a neatly penned thriller that will keep readers guessing to the very end. Self-Publishing Review
* Plane in the Lake *
Neil Turner’s latest Tony Valenti thriller, Plane in the Lake, pits the no-nonsense lawyer and his fiery partner against entrenched power in this classic Chicago crime story. Lawyers and liars go hand in hand in the pearly offices of the city’s underworld, as a well-to-do family’s desperate attempt to cover up the truth behind their daughter’s death spirals into something much more. As Valenti is faced with saving not only his firm but his family too, Turner skillfully wields an incisive pen that takes on the seemingly untouchable upper classes and shady crime families. With his trademark breezy style reminiscent of Dennis Lehane, Turner has produced another devourable thriller. Self-Publishing Review ★★★★½
* * *
Plane in the Lake is a satisfying blend of tense thriller and whodunit that calls into question and ultimately strengthens Tony Valenti’s bonds with friends, family, and peers. The novel works on many different levels to involve readers in a puzzle that remains murky up to its surprise conclusion. It’s a fine story that will keep readers (whether newcomers or prior fans of Tony's gritty streetwise style) thoroughly engrossed to the end. D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
* A Case of Betrayal *
In his third powerful Tony Valenti Thriller, A Case of Betrayal, author Neil Turner puts his charming and brilliant defense attorney back into the fray, where his loyalties to old friends will be tested against his passion for justice. Diving into tough subjects - from the deeply rooted racism in America to the struggles of single fatherhood - this installment stands out from other thrillers; there is real heart in this prose, as well as nuanced character development that keeps the read continually engaging. Packed with suspense, and a page turner from the start. Self-Publishing Review ★★★★½
* A Time for Reckoning *
"A character-driven thriller that fearlessly reveals the dark corners of human nature – misogyny, greed, violence, power, and control. Driven by strong dialogue, unpredictable twists, and more than a dash of colloquial country charm, this savagely honest novel is a stellar addition to the Toni Valenti Thriller series." Self-Publishing Review, ★★★★½
* Scared Silent *
"A brutal and gritty novel of survival on the merciless streets of Chicago, Scared Silent is a gut-wrenching ride. Given the national spotlight being recently turned towards the desperate plight of the poor, this gripping story is not only expertly penned, but also timely and fearless." Self-Publishing Review, ★★★★★
Copyright © 2022 Neil David Turner
Published by Neil Turner Books 2022
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by David Prendergast
Library and Archives Canada ISBN 978-1-7781279-0-8 Trade paperback
Library and Archives Canada ISBN 978-1-7781279-1-5 ePub edition
Created with Vellum
Contents
Part I
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
Part II
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
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
BOOK ONE - A House on Liberty Street
BOOK TWO - Plane in the Lake
BOOK THREE - A Case of Betrayal
BOOK FOUR - A Time for Reckoning
FREE - Last Exit on the Road to Nowhere
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Part I
1
October 20th
* * *
“Chill, dude,” Spike says with a sneer. “This guy’s an easy mark.”
Fifteen-year-old Denzel Payton shoots Spike a sidelong look and offers up a nonchalant shrug. “I’m down with this, man.”
But he isn’t. He’s frightened of what they’re here to do; certain he’s going to regret coming. He buries his hands deeper into his hoodie as they round a corner and run smack into an unseasonably chilly late-October wind. The homeless camp known as Tent Town is several blocks ahead, huddling in the shadows of a railroad viaduct on the fringes of the Southwest Chicago suburb of Cedar Heights. A gathering mist mixes with campfire smoke, picking up rays of moonlight filtering through the trees that tower above the little park. Denzel eyes the ramshackle collection of lean-tos thrown together with whatever flotsam and jetsam the impoverished residents of Tent Town were able to cobble together. A handful of tents dot the encampment.
“What’s this guy’s story?” Denzel asks Spike.
“Some dumbass whose granny died and left him a little bread. Dope’s been flashing cash around. In a place like Tent Town, that’s like an invitation to share, y’know?” Spike tucks his face deeper within the folds of his oversize hoodie. Condensation puffs out of the darkness with each word. “So we comin’ for our little bit of the treasure, Denz,” he adds with an easy laugh. “Hell, ever see the little girl in the Charlie Brown cartoons what says, ‘I just want my fair share’? That be me.”
Denzel feels a barb of regret as his thoughts turn to his own recently deceased grandmother. It doesn’t seem right to steal what someone’s gram left them, but he can’t dwell on that kind of stuff. When Grams died of COVID, Denzel was left out in the streets on his own. Spike is all he has now—Denzel has to do whatever it takes to remain in the man’s orbit.
“How do you know about this guy?” Denzel asks as they cover the final block to Tent Town.
“I get around, man. Hell, I told you a smart operator don’t shit in his own sandbox, right? Only fools mess with the cutthroat motherfuckers in the city. The crowd out here is pretty mellow. Better eats in their food kitchen, too,” he adds with a grin.
Spike seems to know all the angles. He hasn’t answered Denzel’s question, though.
“How do you know about this guy’s deal?” Denzel asks again.
Spike doesn’t answer. He shoots Denzel a side-eyed scowl instead. The stare sends a chill through Denzel. The man is supposedly called Spike because he once nailed someone to one of Chicago’s elevated L tracks with a train coming. Probably bullshit, but it’s the only name Denzel is allowed to use when referring to him. Their relationship is complicated.
Spike pokes Denzel’s shoulder. “If you hafta know, I score some weed from this guy now and again. He supposedly gets a little military pension or something. Everyone out here gets a little piece of the action.”
“He just gives stuff away?”
“I know, right?” Spike says with a dark chuckle. “So we just coming for our fair share. Harry might need a little persuading today if he really got himself a nice stash.”
“A stash of what?”
“Just told you he come into a little bread, Denz. Listen up when I tell you shit!”
Denzel ducks his head. “Sorry, man.”
“Anyway, the dumb shit bought hisself a nice tent, some new tech—Apple stuff, they say.”
“Cool.”
Spike gives an eye roll. “And t
“He’s a vet?”
“Sure. Got hisself all fucked up in one of them Arab sandpits.”
“Guy’s a disabled vet? Don’t know how I feel about taking shit from one of them.”
Spike clamps a hand on Denzel’s shoulder, slows to a stop, and fixes his hard eyes on Denzel’s. “Don’t forget your place, Denz. You my yeah guy. I tell you what to think, boy!”
“Okay.”
“This cracker’s got money. Man, don’t they all got money, no matter how fucked up they get? No reason we shouldn’t get our cut, so stop with the bleeding-heart bullshit. You gonna come away with some nice new threads, maybe a pair of shoes, plus a little weed and some cash for a decent meal. Y’all got a problem with that?”
Denzel wants to say that he does if the stuff comes from what a disabled vet’s gram left him, but it won’t do to challenge Spike. “Nah, I’m down with it.”
Spike smiles and claps Denzel on the shoulder. “That’s right, my man. Let’s do this.”
Denzel falls in beside Spike as he marches into Tent Town and heads straight to a two-person tent. Light glows inside.
Spike stops outside the tent flap. “Hey, Harry. Y’all got company, my man.”
A head pops out of the opening. Long, stringy blond hair frames an emaciated face of indeterminate age. Harry grins unconvincingly, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth with a pronounced gap between the top incisors. He pulls a pair of AirPods out of his ears. “Hey, Spike.”
“How’s my man? I hear you come into some cash. Good for you.”
Harry frowns. “Yeah, my granny passed and left me a few bucks. Picked up a couple things to remember her by. Losing her was a real bitch, man.”
Denzel recognizes the pain in the tight skin around Harry’s eyes when he mentions his gram. Knocking over this guy feels all wrong.
“Got some weed for us?” Spike asks.
“Got a little.”
“Me and my man Denz here could sure use some.” The edge in Spike’s voice signals that this isn’t really a request.
“Yeah, sure. Why not? I can give you guys a couple of joints.”
“Coupla joints? That’s it?”
“Other folks around here enjoy a smoke now and then.”
Spike’s smile vanishes. “I hear you scored yourself a bunch of C-notes, my man. Maybe more.”
“It isn’t much,” Harry says warily. “I like to spread some joy around here.”
Spike kneels to get in Harry’s face. “Starting with me, right? We ain’t gonna hang around here all night, so we’ll have our share now. We’ll take some cash too.” Spike nods his head back at Denzel. “My boy could use a Hamilton or two to get hisself a nice meal.”
Harry’s eyes rise to Denzel’s. “You hungry, man? Don’t got a home?”
“Nah. Lost my gram too, y’know?”
Harry nods sympathetically. “Sure, kid. I got a few bucks you can have. Hold on a sec.” He ducks back into the tent.
Spike leans in after him. “Shee-it, man. Y’all got some sweet shit in here, brother.”
Harry’s voice is muffled. “Picked up a thing or two.”
“New phone, huh? Sweet.”
“Yeah.”
Spike lets out a low whistle. “Whoo-ee. That’s a righteous roll of Benjamins, dude.”
“A bit, yeah,” Harry says nervously. “Been ordering a little pizza and Chinese for my friends.”
Spike snorts derisively and eases deeper into the tent until only his feet are outside. Denzel takes a step backward and glances around at a handful of faces staring back at him.
“Your cash ain’t gonna go far if you be doing shit like that,” Spike says from inside the tent. “Hell, folks do okay at the soup kitchen out here. They don’t need no pizza or Chinese.”
“Hey, man!” Harry exclaims. “What the hell are you doing? Give that back!”
“Gave you a chance to share nice. Looks like you ain’t fixing to do so.”
Fear creeps into Harry’s voice. “Relax, man. I’ll give you—”
A sharp crack cuts off Harry’s response. The weight of something sagging against the side of the tent causes it to billow outward, threatening to take the whole thing down.
“Teach you to fuck with old Spike,” Denzel’s partner mutters as sounds of rummaging spill out of the tent. Then Spike’s head and torso pop out. He holds a baseball bat out handle first. “Got my hands full in here, Denz. Hold this for a minute.”
Denzel takes the bat and stares mutely as Spike ducks back inside.
“Give me the bat and take this,” Spike says when he reappears a moment later and thrusts a Chicago Bears jacket at Denzel. A pair of Converse sneakers follow. Denzel takes the offerings uncertainly; Harry was wearing the jacket—maybe the sneakers, as well.
Denzel edges closer, squats, and peers inside the tent beyond Spike. Harry is lying on his side, silent and still. The baseball bat lies across his legs. Spike is rifling through his pockets, from which he produces a white cell phone, which he immediately stuffs into his hoodie. He picks up the AirPods and pockets them too.
“What the hell?” Denzel whispers as he realizes what just happened.
“Shut the fuck up,” Spike hisses as he pilfers more of Harry’s belongings, including a roll of cash. Then he upends a backpack and shakes its contents onto the floor. He plucks up a couple of baggies that appear to be weed and stuffs them into his pants pocket.
Denzel’s eyes settle on the inert form of Harry, who doesn’t appear to be breathing. A rivulet of blood snakes down the side of his face beneath a patch of hair that glistens red. Denzel’s stomach lurches as he continues to gawk. Is he dead? Denzel backs away from the tent, settles on his haunches, and meets the gaze of a destitute woman who edges closer with fury in her eyes. Her anger and courage seem to put a little backbone into a couple of men who follow in her wake.
Spike emerges and grins up at Denzel. “Time to go, my man,” he says as he stands, claps a hand on Denzel’s shoulder, and spins him away from the tent. He works his hoodie around his face with the other. “Put the coat on, dude. Look sharp!”
Denzel shrugs into the jacket, then ties the laces of the Converse sneakers together and slings the shoes over his shoulder.
Spike’s head turns toward the woman and men who are inching closer. He freezes them in place with a menacing “Stop right fucking there.” Once they do, Spike turns back to Denzel and tugs on his sleeve. “C’mon, man. Time to get the fuck outa here.”
Denzel takes a final look at Harry’s neighbors. He wants to apologize. He wants to dial the clock back ten minutes and change history. He wants to cry.
Spike wraps a hand around his arm. “This ain’t no time to freeze, boy. Move!”
Denzel is too frightened to do anything other than allow himself to be dragged away. With Spike’s hand locked on his arm, Denzel follows in a trance as Spike begins to jog back the way they came.
Denzel’s stomach continues to lurch as he stumbles along, overwhelmed by the unexpected enormity and ugliness of what he’s just been party to. Grams would have had his ass for getting mixed up in this. He makes it a block away from Tent Town before he yanks his arm free of Spike and veers into the entrance to an alley. He drops to his knees and begins to puke his guts out.
