Ray Hoy - Jack Frost 01 - The Vegas Factor Page 11

  When I turned around, Jane was standing there. She held out a cup of coffee, which I gratefully accepted. As I lifted it to my lips, the hot liquid spilled down over my fingers. I stared at my shaking hands.

  She took me by the arm. “C’mon, Jack,” she said. We took the elevator to the surgical floor, where we sat and waited for several lifetimes, listening to the hospital sounds. I shook my head. This can’t really be happening. This has to be a dream … it has to be.

  Chapter 24

  I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there, staring down at the floor, when I heard a voice calling my name.

  “Mr. Frost … Mr. Frost.”

  With a start I got quickly to my feet. I found myself staring into Doctor Morris’ tired eyes, set so deeply in his sad young face. His mask was pulled down below his chin, and he still wore the green surgical gown and cap.

  I felt that cold knot in my belly again. I had become all too familiar with that feeling over the years.

  Dr. Morris paused, then said quietly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Frost. She … she didn’t make it.”

  I stood there, not breathing. For one moment I believe I went a little mad. I must have misunderstood him. Now ask him how she really is. Ask him again. He doesn’t realize what he just said.

  “She was conscious in the ambulance, Mr. Frost … during the delivery.”

  I heard myself moan. Did that sound come from me? Finally I managed to say, “Did she see the baby?”

  Doctor Morris nodded and swallowed. “Uh, yes, she held him for a few moments.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder, then turned away.

  I was only vaguely aware of Jane’s arm around me. I allowed her to lead me to the elevator. She supported me as you would a very old, very frail person, looking up at me as she fought back the tears. “What will you do now, Jack?”

  ““I’m going to get my dog and take him home.”

  Chapter 25

  I carried Ripper into the gloomy interior of the cabin, and placed him gently on the rug in front of the fireplace. Though still groggy, he managed to paw feebly at the bandage on his head.

  I started a fire to keep him warm, then walked into the kitchen, filled a tumbler with Scotch and choked half of it down. The cabin swayed in the blustery wind of a gathering storm.

  I stood in the kitchen, both hands on the countertop, and looked up, perhaps searching for God, I don’t know. “Why her?” I said aloud. “All the rotten bastards in the world and You let this happen to her? Why? She never hurt anyone in her life!”

  I slammed my fist on the counter, rattling dishes in the cupboards. I took a deep shuddering breath and wiped my eyes, then walked to Felicia’s bedroom. As I stopped in the doorway, my eyes fell on the dim outline of the bassinet, standing mutely in the corner.

  Suddenly, I found myself gasping for air. I turned away so abruptly that I slammed into the door frame. I stood there for a moment, dazed, fists clenched, fighting back hot tears.

  I looked down at a deflated Ripper. He stared up at me for a few moments, then painfully lifted his head and gazed around the room. I knew who he was looking for. With a sad crooning sound, he slowly lowered his head to the rug.

  I got down on my knees next to Ripper and cradled his bandaged head in my arms. I hugged him close for a moment, then gently lowered his head to the rug. The cabin shook violently in the gathering wind, sending a shiver through me. I clutched my arrowhead necklace in one fist as I stroked his ears, listening to the low crying in his throat.

  I’ll take the baby to Vi. She’ll know what to do.

  – THE END –

  What’s next for

  Jack Frost?

  A Proper Time to Die

  Jack Frost is not one to turn the other cheek. He heads for Las Vegas to deal with Varchetta, but waiting for him there is one James Red Sleeves, a full-blooded Apache Syndicate enforcer, perhaps the most dangerous man Frost has ever faced.

  A Proper Time to Die, Book #2 in the

  Jack Frost thrillers by Ray Hoy.

  Available now

  Available now

  PREVIEW

  A Proper Time to Die

  (Originally titled Bitter Frost)

  Chapter 1

  Las Vegas, 5:30 a.m.

  I came thrashing out of a sound sleep and found myself staring into J.T. Ripper’s ugly black face, just inches from my nose. I groaned and stretched, then glanced at my watch. Five-thirty. God, how I hated morning. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as a bat, or with a little luck, a vampire.

  I got out of bed and padded naked into my rented RV’s kitchen. I rummaged through the cupboards until I found the tin of coffee. I popped the plastic lid and groaned. Empty. McDonald’s again.

  I brushed my teeth, then pulled on an old pair of sweats. I shuddered at the thought of putting in five miles of roadwork. When I opened the door, I cowered for a few moments in the bright sunlight, my hands over my eyes. When the little sparklers finally went away, I said, “Okay Ripper, let’s go.”

  Unlike me, Ripper loves to get out and run. A big, evil-tempered dog needs a lot of exercise. A bored Ripper is a pissed Ripper, so I work him every chance I get.

  We went down the RV steps together. Ripper trotted on ahead, while I began a slow shuffle, a shuffle that gradually began to resemble jogging. As I plodded along, I looked around at the scrub desert and realized how much I missed my Lake Tahoe A-frame, and running on the beach in that clean, cool mountain air.

  Summer temperatures make running in Vegas a real bitch. A lot of people love to run. I hate it, even though I’ve been running for twenty years. I run to stay in shape, nothing more. The first mile is the hardest, and this one was no exception. Then, as any runner will tell you, something magical happens. You feel the first wave of energy surge through your body, and all of a sudden you can run forever.

  Three miles later I was still waiting for this magical state of euphoria to make its appearance. I chugged along in agony, cursing the sun, Ripper, the aging process, Nevada, jogging, and anything else that came to mind. Ripper, on the other hand, trotted beside me, in front of me, behind me, and between my feet, making a general nuisance of himself. So I cursed him for the remaining mile while he smiled up at me, content that he was succeeding in making me miserable.

  I squinted at a cloudless sky and a blazing sun that was doing its best to beat me into submission. My mind drifted back to Virginia City, four months earlier, back to where Felicia Martinez had lost her life and given the world Jonathan Flynn’s baby in exchange. Back to where she’d been murdered by a creep sent by Harry Varchetta, the CEO of one of the oldest, most respected casinos in Las Vegas.

  Varchetta was a man who needed killing.

  The trial had been short enough to embarrass anyone who believed in due process. Varchetta appeared in court before the best judge money could buy, maintaining that Benny Florentine—the man who murdered Felicia Martinez—had worked for him for many years, but had quit several weeks prior to her death. Benny had always lusted after Felicia, Varchetta testified, and whatever he had done, he had most assuredly done on his own.

  So here I was in Vegas, Varchetta’s town, with little going for me except a desire for revenge that burned deep in my gut.

  – End of Preview –

  Ray Hoy has been a professional writer, editor, and publisher for over 50 years. Somewhere in his five-decade media career he also managed to spend 15 years as a casino marketing consultant for some of Nevada’s top gaming properties. Ray’s real-life experiences in the “Casino Wars” provide him with a wealth of authentic material for his Jack Frost thriller series.

  “J.T. Ripper lives only in the pages of my Frost novels, so it’s fine that he helps himself to an occasional Scotch. However, I have a soft spot in my heart for dogs, and they should be kept away from alcohol of any kind. Since Ripper is not of this world, he can do whatever he damn well pleases, and believe me, he does.” —Ray Hoy

  AV
AILABLE NOW IN THE

  JACK FROST THRILLER SERIES

  The Vegas Factor

  A Proper Time to Die

  Nightmare in Neon

  COMING SOON

  Hard Edges

  The Jilly Solution

  The Vegas Factor

  Cover image by Kraevski

  A Proper Time to Die

  Cover image by Spvvk

  Nightmare in Neon

  Cover image by ViewApart

  J.T. Ripper image by jurra8

  Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud

  “Is there fishing in Heaven, Dad? There must be …”

  Genre: A True Story by Ray Hoy

  Available in Kindle and large print paperback

  Two months after Ray Hoy entered the service in 1956, his father died. Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud is a collection of letters Ray wrote to his deceased father while stationed at Camp Desert Rock, Nevada as a member of the 232nd Signal Corps. Ray’s unit, based out of Ft. Huachuca, Arizona (General Custer’s old 7th Cavalry post) was there to provide communications support for the above ground atomic bomb tests.

  While at Camp Desert Rock, Ray witnessed numerous above ground nuclear detonations and, unlike thousands of his fellow soldiers, has lived to tell about it. Now seventy-eight years old, Ray belongs to an exclusive club—he is one of the dwindling number of living “Atomic Soldiers.” Ray still writes letters to his father. He says he always will.

  Truly Awe-inspiring . . .

  “The power of a nuclear explosion is truly awe-inspiring. Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud is a collection of letters from Ray Hoy addressed to his late father as he reflected on his time in the military and his viewing of one of the first nuclear detonations in the 1950s. Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud is a poignant look at the military and the early days of the nuclear era.”

  — Midwest Book Review

  An Unforgettable Moment in Time …

  “Ray Hoy’s Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud captures an unforgettable moment in time during a military stint on a nuclear test site, but more than that his book is a testament to the endurance of respect and love that keep alive people we have lost. You will be moved in ways you can’t anticipate.”

  — Laura Belgrave, The Claudia Hershey Mysteries

  Eye-witness History …

  “Thought-provoking, eye-witness history. Every American should read this. The book is a collection of letters to a deceased father about the life of a soldier who served and experienced, first hand, atomic bomb testing back in the fifties … Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud is a worthy read and will become a catalyst to reflect on what is meaningful about life.”

  — Bob Weinstein, Lt. Colonel, USAR-ret.

  The Early Years of the Atomic Age …

  “Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud by Ray Hoy is a poignant representation of the early years of the atomic age as seen through the eyes of a young soldier at Camp Desert Rock, Nevada’s above-ground nuclear test site. Dubbed “The Mushroom Garden” by soldiers in Hoy’s unit, bright mushroom clouds often blossomed from the desert floor.

  “After the passing of his father, Ray wrote him letters about life in The Mushroom Garden. Beneath the simplicity of these letters, Ray reveals an era nearly forgotten, a national mindset never to be seen again … this book is an historic treasure. A must-read.”

  — Reenie Nattress, The Keeper of Time

  Let the Historians Quibble …

  “Let the historians quibble over what was one of the most horrific man-made and hushed-up disasters of the 20th century. Ray Hoy’s testament in the form of letters written shortly after the death of his father should be included in the documentation of the collateral human toll that happens as governments everywhere develop deadly weaponry with disregard to the potential human toll.”

  — Gordon Ross, Tales from Tidy Vale

  The Year was 1957 …

  “The U.S. and the Soviet Union were in a mindless race to see who would be the first to develop nuclear weapons destructive enough to blow the civilized world off the face of the planet.

  “This was the setting for a warmly personal autobiographical book titled, Letters from Under the Mushroom Cloud. Ray Hoy, the author, was stationed at Camp Desert Rock, Nevada, the site of a series of above-ground nuclear tests.

  “Two months after Ray entered the Army, his dad passed away. Ray’s close and loving relationship with his father, along with being far from home in a bizarre and frightening place, amplified his grief. To cope with his loss and the strange world in which he found himself, Hoy began writing letters to his deceased father, telling him of the goings-on in his outlandish world. Those letters are the subject of this book. The letters are warm, personal and factual; they speak of love and of the dangerous place the world was in in the late 1950s.

  “I am the same age as Ray Hoy, and I found myself dabbing the moisture off my cheeks as I read this volume and walked with Ray, half a century ago.”

  — Richard Herman, Lazlo’s Fire

  PREVIEW

  Just Call Me “Bud”

  When I was born, my mother named me “Raymond” but Dad never liked it, so he called me “Bud” instead. Oddly enough, from that moment on no one in my family ever called me by my given name again—including my mother!

  Well, “Bud” always seemed like an honest name to me, so thanks, Dad. It suits this transplanted Midwesterner just fine.”

  Chapter 1

  Waiting for Diablo

  Monday, July 15, 1957

  0400 hours (4:00 a.m.)

  Yucca Flat, Area 2b

  Nevada Test Site

  Dear Dad,

  They’re going to detonate this big firecracker in exactly 30 minutes, so I’ll have to hurry with this letter. It’s 0400 hours (4 a.m.) and pitch black up here in this desolate place they call “Yucca Flat.” This is the so-called “Forward Area” and it must be what the moon looks like.

  They test atomic bombs here.

  Our actual base is Camp Desert Rock, which is located just a few miles south. It’s really just an ugly scattering of Quonset huts and motor pools situated a few miles off U.S. 95, about 70 miles north of Las Vegas.

  When we go into Las Vegas on a weekend pass, people ask us what we do at the base. We tell them, with a straight face, “We grow mushrooms in the desert.”

  I’m sitting on the sand with my back against the front wheel of a truck, writing this letter in the glow of my flashlight. I find myself shivering from time to time. Yeah, I know it’s July, but there’s a pretty good wind blowing—and I’m a little nervous.

  For the past hour or so I’ve been wondering if the wind might cause the shot to be postponed. However, I just overheard a lieutenant talking on a field phone, and apparently they’ve been waiting for the wind to blow away from Las Vegas and toward some little town in Utah called St. George.

  I wonder if the people in St. George know that? Somehow I doubt it.

  Artie (a street-wise kid from New York, and my best friend here at Camp Desert Rock) just said to me, “C’mon, Ray! Our government wouldn’t put us here if they thought we’d be in any danger! We’re really lucky, if you stop and think about it. Not everyone gets to see an atomic bomb blow this close and live to tell about it!”

  He laughed when I said, “What makes you think we’re going to live to tell about it?”

  But of course, Artie has to be right … right?

  It was interesting to see how we got here. Our first sergeant called us into formation yesterday and said, “I’m looking for volunteers to go up to Yucca Flat tomorrow morning to witness a shot. If you don’t feel like volunteering, you don’t have to—I need K.P. people for the next month or so, anyway. Now then, all ‘volunteers’ take one step forward.” Needless to say, we all took one step forward.

  Don’t you love the way the military works?

  Off in the distance I can see a light flashing at the top of the 500-ft. steel tower that holds the bo
mb. By the way, the military likes to call it a “device” rather than a bomb (maybe they think it sounds more civilized). However, Artie said, “If it goes ‘boom’ it’s a bomb!” I agree with him.

  Because it’s still dark, we can only see the flashing light on top of the tower, not the tower itself. But I heard it’s about the size of a large oil derrick. I don’t know how far away it is, but in this clear night air that flashing light looks way too close to suit me.

  This particular bomb is called “Diablo” and it’s the 7th full scale shot in the “Plumbbob” series.

  The countdown has been going on for several hours now. The way the sound comes out of the speakers and rolls across the desert puts a chill right up my spine. I think it’s beginning to get on everyone’s nerves. However, I can’t bring myself to complain, too much. From what I hear, they’ve got some Marines that are going to ride this one out in trenches that are just 3,500 yards or so from the tower; and a group of scientists in an underground bunker just 2,000 yards from the blast. Not sure what our government boys are trying to prove with this one, but I don’t envy those guys. That’s too close for comfort! I’ll keep my fingers crossed for them.