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No Justice Series (Book 1): No Justice
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Table of Contents
No Justice
Copyright
Dedication
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No Justice
Chapter 1 - Mallory Black
Chapter 2 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 3 - Mallory Black
Chapter 4 - Ashley Black
Chapter 5 - Mallory Black
Two Years Later
Chapter 6 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 7 - Mallory Black
Chapter 8 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 9 - Mallory Black
Chapter 10 - Mallory Black
Chapter 11 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 12 - Mallory Black
Chapter 13 - Mallory Black
Chapter 14 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 15 - Mallory Black
Chapter 16 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 17 - Mallory Black
Chapter 18 - Mallory Black
Chapter 19 - Jessi Price
Wednesday Oct. 18
Chapter 20 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 21 - Jessi Price
Chapter 22 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 23 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 24 - Mallory Black
Chapter 25 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 26 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 27 - Mallory Black
Chapter 28 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 29 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 30 - Mallory Black
Chapter 31 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 32 - Mallory Black
Chapter 33 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 34 - Mallory Black
Chapter 35 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 36 - Mallory Black
Chapter 37 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 38 - Mallory Black
Chapter 39 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 40 - Mallory Black
Chapter 41 - Jasper Price
Chapter 42 - Mallory Black
Thursday Oct. 19
Chapter 43 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 44 - Mallory Black
Chapter 45 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 46 - Mallory Black
Chapter 47 - Jessi Price
Chapter 48 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 49 - Mallory Black
Chapter 50 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 51 - Mallory Black
Chapter 52 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 53 - Mallory Black
Chapter 54 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 55 - Mallory Black
Chapter 56 - Mallory Black
Chapter 57 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 58 - Paul Dodd
Chapter 59 - Mallory Black
Chapter 60 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 61 - Mallory Black
Chapter 62 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 63 - Mallory Black
Chapter 64 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 65 - Mallory Black
Chapter 66 - Jasper Parish
Friday Oct. 20
Chapter 67 - Mallory Black
- Epilogue
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Acknowledgements
Author's Note
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About the Authors
NO JUSTICE
SEAN PLATT
&
DAVID WRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The authors have taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
The authors greatly appreciate you taking the time to read our work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about the book to help us spread the word.
Thank you for supporting our work.
eBook Edition v 1
September 26, 2017
Copyright 2017 Collective Inkwell an imprint of Sterling & Stone LLC
www.CollectiveInkwell.com
To Steve. I may be the writer, but you’ve got the best stories.
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Sean Platt & David W. Wright
CHAPTER 1 - MALLORY BLACK
Mallory Black stared at the endless rows of brightly colored Kewl Chik dolls — with their endless array of accessories, makeup, and hairstyles — trying her damnedest to remember the name of the specific doll her daughter had requested for her tenth birthday.
Was it Ali?
Kati?
Jessika?
Which one did Ashley ask for?
The cartoonish looking dolls technically had different styles, unique outfits, and wildly varying hair colors ranging from blonde to black to neon green and blue, but they all looked the same after a while. Mal couldn’t remember which ones Ashley already had. At least twelve. She played with them, carried them around, even used them to wake Mal on occasion, but hell if she could remember any of them now.
She should’ve written it down, but Mal rarely had to write things. She had an almost photographic memory, which made her a great detective. But something as simple as a doll? She was coming up blank.
“Damn it,” she said, louder than she meant to.
“They don’t have the one you want?” said a man behind her.
Mal jumped, startled, not realizing someone had approached so quietly.
She expected to see someone in a Toys-R-Us shirt offering assistance. Instead, there was a young, slightly tanned man, handsome in casual business attire, with short brown curly hair and piercing blue eyes.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember the damned doll my daughter wants for her birthday.”
He moved his basket of toys from one hand to the other. “Yeah, whatever happened to seven Barbies to choose from?”
She laughed. “Big Barbie fan, were you?”
“No, but my sister was. I was Team Star Wars all the way. So, how old is she turning?”
“Ten going on thirty. Yours?”
He showed her his perfect row of pearly whites. “Oh, I don’t have one. Buying for my niece. She’s turning ten, too. They grow up so fast, don’t they?”
Mal nodded, looking into his basket to eye the selection. She saw a familiar looking purple-haired doll wearing a black dress and purple thigh-high boots. Her name was Ariel.
Ariel!
A lightbulb went off in her head.
“I think that’s the one! Where did you get it?”
The man led her to the end of the aisle, and a peg with two remaining Ariels. She grabbed the second to last one.
“Thank you! You just saved my daughter’s birthday. Well, assuming this is even the right one!”
“Glad I could help. But don’t blame me if I’m wrong.”
Mal laughed, then shifted her feet through an uncomfortable silence. That awkward moment where the guy was trying to conjure small talk and extend the conversation while working the courage to ask her out. Mal always showed her wedding bands — an excellent prop to wiggle out of exactly this sticky situation. The awkward guy didn’t have to know that her
marriage was more or less on the rocks, or that she and Ray weren’t living together.
Usually, after showing the rings, one of three things would happen. The guy would sheepishly excuse himself with an apology, he’d find a witty way to persist, or he’d ignore all subtlety, dig in obnoxiously, and annoy the hell out of her.
Mal wondered which way this would go.
Then her phone rang.
Her partner, Mike Cortez, waiting in the car.
She looked at the handsome, slightly awkward man. “It’s work. I’ve gotta take this.”
The man smiled.
Mal answered the phone.
“Hey, we need to go.”
“What’s up?”
“Old couple found dead in their home two blocks away. Deputies waiting for us.”
“What the hell?” Mal rounded the corner and saw a single checkout lane with the world’s longest line.
Mal dropped her basket and ran from the store, hoping she’d be able to come back later, and that there would be at least one Ariel left.
* * * *
CHAPTER 2 - JASPER PARISH
Jasper Parish needed to hang up.
He was on the phone with Larry, one of the Crisis Hotline’s regular callers for more than a year. Larry always had the same problems: nobody loves him, nobody even likes him, his mother is domineering, and he can’t seem to keep a job for more than a week. Jasper felt bad for the schlub at first. While Jasper was thirty-six now, his awkward youth just paces behind him. If he hadn’t found basketball, and the discipline that came with regular practice, he might never have pulled his life together, become a cop, or invested wisely enough to retire early and choose when and where to work.
But guys like Larry were too soft for sports, let alone an officer’s life. He’d crumble five minutes into the Academy, then beg for his domineering mommy to take him back into her clutches. Still, Jasper could sympathize — at first.
But after hearing the same complaints for six months straight, Jasper could see why no one liked Larry. It wasn’t that he was fat, ugly, or a loser, all of which were presumably true. It was because the man didn’t even try to fix his life. You gave him advice, and he gave you excuses of why nothing would ever work for him. As if he were the one person in the world for whom the equation of work plus effort didn’t equal results.
It was exhausting, and Jasper was practically seen as a saint for taking calls from a man who had burned out two crisis workers before Jasper started taking his calls six months ago.
He let Larry drone on about his overbearing mother and the latest drama, without really listening. Instead, Jasper stared at the clock on his cubicle desk and its slowly disappearing minutes.
He had to make another call, one far more important than this one. A call he couldn’t miss.
He had twenty-five minutes left, but could easily see Larry going on and on for at least another thirty. And working a crisis hotline meant you could never hang up on someone, no matter how much they were annoying you.
You’re right, Larry, your life does suck. You should kill yourself. Let me send you some YouTube tutorials so you won’t screw that up!
As fun as that would be for Jasper to say, he couldn’t quite do it. You never knew what might push people over the edge, and finally make them take their own life. Jasper had talked to countless people attempting to end their lives over things far more trivial than being hung up on by a crisis counselor.
As annoying as Larry was, Jasper didn’t want him dead.
After another five minutes of listening to him blather on about his mother, Jasper finally had enough.
“Hey, Larry. I understand what you’re going through. And like I said, you give your mother the power you think she has over you. You can take that power back by standing up for yourself. Right?”
“Right,” Larry agreed, clearly disappointed.
“Larry,” Jasper seized the moment, “I’ve got to ask you a favor if you don’t mind.”
Guys like Larry never minded. They liked doing favors. It gave them some of that recognition their regular lives failed to give them.
“There’s a situation at home that requires my attention. Sort of an emergency. But I’ll be back in about an hour. Can I call you then?”
Larry paused, probably trying to decide if he was being given the short shrift.
“I wouldn’t ask you normally, Larry. But you can understand where I’m coming from, what with family stuff. Right?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Larry said, his voice a bit more ebullient.
“Great. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing.”
Larry hung up, and then Jasper put in a quick call to Marcy, who oversaw the hotline’s seven-person team. “Hey, I’m sorry, something’s come up, and I need to cut out. Is that okay? I’ll be back in about forty minutes or so.”
“Yeah, is everything okay?”
“It should be if I take care of it.”
He didn’t bother explaining what ‘it’ was, figuring Marcy would understand. And she did.
“Thanks.”
Jasper hung up then signed out of his computer, grabbed his backpack off the ground under his desk, and quickly left, waving at a few of the other counselors on calls, looking up at him as he eased by their cubicles.
Jordyn was waiting in the parking lot, leaning against his car, arms folded, her black duster hanging over purple leggings that exactly matched the purple streaks in her jet-black hair.
“Sheesh, what took you so long?” his daughter asked.
“Larry.”
She rolled her eyes as seventeen-year-old girls were particularly masterful at doing. “That loser? What did he want? To whine about his mommy some more?”
Jasper unlocked the car, opened his door, and climbed inside. Jordyn joined him, plopping down in the passenger seat, putting her black boots up on the dashboard.
“I really shouldn’t tell you stuff about these people. Especially if you’re gonna make fun of them.”
“Sorry. But come on, if you didn’t tell me, who would you tell? You need someone to unleash all that crazy on, or else it stays stuck in your head.”
Jasper backed out of his spot. “Fair point.”
“So, why’d you call me?”
“I need to know … are you sure?”
“About the cop’s kid? Yeah. Why?”
“I’m calling her.”
“What?”
“We need to warn her.”
“You sure you wanna do that? It’s not like we can change what’s going to happen.”
And it was true. Jasper had tried to intervene on five separate occasions, tried to stop her visions from coming true. He’d failed every time.
“Maybe we can’t stop it,” Jasper said, meeting Jordyn’s gaze. “But shouldn’t we try? Wouldn’t you want to know if your kid was in danger?”
“I’m not having kids. Kids gross me out.”
“You know what I mean. If you did have a kid, you’d want to know if someone was going to kidnap her, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess,” Jordyn sighed. “But I still think it’s dangerous for us to be calling the cops about anything.”
“It’s not like I’m using my phone. I have burners. I’ll warn her then ditch it.”
“You don’t think she’s gonna be curious as to how you know what’s going to happen to her daughter? Won’t she think you are part of it?”
“It won’t matter. It’s not like I’m gonna tell her my name. I call, warn her, then hang up.”
Jordyn said nothing.
“Come on; I raised you better than that. I know you’re not nearly as cold as you’re pretending to be.”
“Am too.” She tried to scowl, but was mostly grinning.
Jasper laughed. “See, I knew it. You can act cool around your friends, but you can’t fool your father.”
“Whatever,” she said, crossing her hands over her chest and staring out the window. “So, where are we goin
g?”
“I wanted to put distance between work and where we make the call. Triangulation and all.”
“Ah, right,” she nodded.
Though Jordyn was still a sweetheart acting tough on the outside, she was a cool daughter. How many teenage girls voluntarily hung out with their dad? Or had visions that showed them things that were going to happen?
“So, I suppose you have to work late tonight?”
“Yeah,” he said, ignoring the way she twisted the word work. “Got another job.”
“I’m not stupid, Dad.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can tell me if you’re seeing someone. It’s not like Mom would’ve minded. Hell, she’d want you to be dating. It’s been six years.”
“I’m not seeing anyone. I have a job.”
She looked at him skeptically.
Of course, he couldn’t tell her the truth.
Not yet.
She was too young to know the things he did to make the world a safer place. And maybe too sensitive to know that he used her visions to select his targets.
“All of your clients just happen to have cases you need to work on at night?”
“You go where the work is, no matter the time.”
“I still don’t get why you’re working all the time. It’s not like we need the money.”
This was Jordyn’s way of reminding him that her visions had also allowed them to invest wisely in the market. They weren’t stupid rich, but they sure as hell didn’t need to punch a clock.
“I like being able to help people.”
She didn’t need to know that he hadn’t taken a new case in nearly six months, or what he was really doing late at night. While he still had a license as a private investigator, and still technically worked for the law firm that had employed him when he moved here, Jasper was on a sabbatical, one he didn’t plan to ever return from. His investments were paying off even better than he’d hoped. Soon, he’d never have to work again.
Then, he could devote all of his time to his Purpose.
“So why work at the call center? You hate it. And they don’t pay shit.”