Jake Stone, Revisited after Many Years

Some years ago I penned a series of novels that at the time became quite the sensation, The Jake Stone Thrillers.  The premise was simple--a regular guy in love with a woman much stronger and smarter than he was; indeed a woman superior to him in every way.  Jake, our male protagonist, was not the sort who was especially drawn to amazon women, but he loved this particular woman, partly because she had saved his life.  She went by the name Snowflake, a term that at the time did not have its present cultural or political associations.  

I intended the novel to be a stand-alone book, but within about 48 hours, for some reason still unknown to me, it rocketed to best-seller status on Amazon.  I decided to write a sequel, which I turned out in about three weeks.  That book sold well too, and so I continued writing at a break-neck pace, producing a new novel every month or so, the average length being about 50,000 words, or about 150 pages, publishing the final installment, book 21, Crazy, in early 2004.  Along the way I also wrote a four volume spin-off series, The Dirk Cobb Thrillers.  

The books were, and probably still are, controversial.  Some readers loved them; others hated them.  You can see for yourself in the Amazon review section.  One reader who was rather fond of the series described these stories as an example of "de-masculization."  Whatever, the books were fast-paced and outrageous.  As the series moved along, Snowflake seemed to get stronger and more and more ferocious; yet she still retained a tender spot for her rather hapless husband Jake.  Their adventures became more outlandish as well, with the stakes between good and evil quickly reaching global dimensions.  Somewhere in the middle of the series Jake and Snowflake had their only child, who turned out to be genderless.  The gender-bending nature of these stories before this became fashionable in literary circles, especially in the second half of the series, remains one of their  hallmarks. 

If you're intrigued, I thought I'd include a brief excerpt from the opening pages of one of my favorites, Book 2.  It will give you a taste of what you're in store for if you decide to dip into this series for a closer look.  The book is sold for just 99 cents at the following link, Amazon, and most other sites where fine books are sold. 

So there it is, flaws and all.  Indeed, what would you expect from a series of books turned out like hotcakes by one writer toiling away by his lonesome over a worn-out keyboard alongside a clunky tower computer?  I still think though, to this day, that they're all quite splendid.  Enjoy!  Excuse the white background by the way.  It's just the way it pasted in.

CHAPTER 1

 It seemed that Jake Stone was in for another nasty streak of bad luck, or maybe not.

"What is this about?" Jake screamed into his smart phone.  "An adolescent prank, some kind of cruel joke?"

Jake was racing toward Texas on his way to Mexico, and what he hoped was freedom and the chance to start over.  Jake had good reason to hope.  The five million bucks in cash he had stolen from the late Sylvester Bradshaw, the stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills resting quietly in the briefcase beside him, Jake firmly believed would get him off to a fine start.  Why on earth then would he answer his phone?  He knew he shouldn't.  It could only lead to more distractions, distractions that could slow him down, distractions that could get him killed. 

But now Jake's curiosity was piqued.  Who could possibly be calling him?  Was there any new and potentially life changing— his life that is—information about the Bradshaw estate, about Snowflake, about the entire mess he had left behind in Pittsburgh? 

Jake was hooked by the need to know, the same way he had been hooked by the lovely but lethal Snowflake, whom he still loved, although he didn't want to admit it quite yet, and her even crazier mother, Arianna, whom he despised and who he dearly hoped was now dead.  Jake wanted to get away from all that nonsense, all that emotional pain, all those vicious karate chopping female killers.  It was simple really.  Jake wanted a fresh new life.  But circumstances kept dragging him back into the old one.

"Neither," the frail voice on the other end said haltingly.  "I am indeed Martin Bradshaw, and you, Jake, are in serious trouble."

"No kidding," Jake squawked.  "I'm wanted for the murder of Gerald Fish, the guy who was working for you the last time I checked.  Thanks a lot."

"It's unfortunate you were dragged into that nasty bit of business."

"I'll say.  It wasn't even my doing.  Snowflake was the one who killed him, not me."

"But you were an accessory."

"I was just there," Jake said, wincing as his legal mind kicked in and told him that he really was an accessory, and perhaps a conspirator as well.  "At the time I was hoping that she only knocked him out with that fancy neck squeeze of hers.  I should have known that she'd go for the kill."

"Quit engaging in such fanciful and wishful thinking, Jake.  You're in up to your gills in all of this sordid business.  But I can help you."

"How are you going to help me, and how'd you get away from Arianna anyway?  I was sure you were dead."

There was a pause.  Jake peered at the darkening road in front of him.  With the breaking news over the Internet that he was wanted for the death of Arianna's old sparring partner and servant, Gerald Fish, Jake would need to get to Mexico faster than he had planned.  He was already exhausted and had hoped to check into some obscure motel well off the road for a good night's rest.  But all that was history.  Now he would need to drive all night and all the next day as well to get to the Texas — Mexican border.   What he would do then, he had no idea.  But it was a good start anyway, he thought, if he made it, that is.

Jake yawned and then shook his head briskly in an effort to push away the deep sleep that he feared was slowly overtaking him.

"I thought I was a goner too," Martin chuckled.  "But luck intervened, or more precisely, your friend, Snowflake, or whatever she's calling herself now."

"What about Snowflake?" Jake asked, his ears perking up.

Jake still loved her, of course.  He could feel the warmth for the strange Amazon once again welling up inside him at the mere mention of her screwball name.  But was it worth it to love such a ruthless killer?  Was she even still alive?   Better to fear her, he thought.  He would live longer that way.  

Martin's quivering voice dribbled on.  Yet there was nonetheless a confidence in his wavering tone that gave Jake a feeling of assurance, however misplaced that feeling might prove to be.

"She apparently felt that my continued existence on this earthly plane," Martin croaked on amiably, "at least until all the inheritance matters were finalized, was of some importance from an administrative standpoint.  So she sent a few of her Amazonian thugs to intercept the car I was riding in, the one my lovely wife Arianna had reserved as my coffin.  I guess that Snowflake, being of a more thoughtful nature than her mother, wanted to keep me around just in case I had to make any court appearances if questions were raised about the new estate plan, the one which Snowflake herself cleverly devised, the one making her the sole owner of the family business, my business.  Then, I suppose, when my usefulness to her had run out, she would doubtless have had me killed off in some rather brutal and efficient manner, which seems is her normal way of doing business."

"Snowflake is a shrewd one," Jake said proudly.  "Smarter than her mom, for sure."

"Possibly," Martin said.  "I never really had the chance to get to know the girl.  Arianna was always keeping her away from me.  Arianna said her daughter was nothing but trash, bad news she claimed, a potential lawsuit in the making.  Perhaps, in retrospect, I should have married her instead of her mother.  She might have taken better care of me."

"Get to the point," Jake snarled, his eyes blinking at the winding road up ahead.  "What happened next?"

"Three gorgeous women riding motorcycles overtook the car, forced it off the road, and then beat to a pulp the thugs Arianna had sent along to guard me.  One of the women strapped me to the back of her chopper, as she called it, and drove me back to my estate, or at least what used to be my estate.  As soon as we arrived fighting broke out between Arianna's superwomen and her daughter's pulchritudinous forces.  In  the ensuing melee, I managed to slip away.  I'm still rather spry for an old goat."

"Where are you now?" Jake barked.

"I don't really see the relevance of my current address.  Suffice it to say that I am still alive, if not kicking."

"Well," Jake snarled.  "So am I, and I intend to keep it that way."

"That's my whole point," Martin replied, his frail voice sharpening a bit.  "I want to keep you alive too."

"Why?"

"From the absolute most reliable of motives, namely, from the standpoint of my own self interest.  You, Jake, can help me get back what's rightfully mine."

Jake glanced at the black attache case lying beside him on the passenger seat.  He flipped open the lid and stroked his hand over the neat stacks of one hundred dollar bills.  Then he closed the lid again and frowned.

"My self interest tells me not to trust a word you say."

"Ordinarily I would agree with, and indeed applaud, your rather cynical assessment," the old man's voice droned on with even more assurance.  It was as though he had already thought of all the possible arguments that Jake might advance against him and was prepared to bat them all away with even better arguments of his own.  "But you've ignored one important consideration, my young friend."

"And what's that?" Jake sneered.

"Your girlfriend, Snowflake.  She can never let you live.  You may or may not be able to escape from the police, but Snowflake is a relentless adversary.  She'll track you down and kill you.  You can count on it."

"But she loves me."

"Then she'll mourn you after she kills you, but you will be dead just the same."

The old man's words struck a dismal chord inside Jake.  The young lawyer gulped nervously as he felt beads of warm sweat trickling down his forehead.  Out of desperation and an overwhelming desire to do something useful, he reached toward the dashboard to crank up the air conditioner.  The ensuing blast of frigid air slapped across his cheeks and revived him somewhat.

"How do I know if she's even still alive?" Jake asked, remembering the frightful scene of the two women crashing through the third floor window of the Bradshaw mansion and splattering on the sidewalk below.

"She's alive," the voice replied confidently.

Jake flinched.  Could it be true?  Had Snowflake survived the calamitous brawl with her mother?  If so, was Arianna now dead?  What wonderful news that would be.

"How do you know?" Jake asked gruffly.

"I know."

"You've got to give me more assurance than just your word."

"I can't, not now.  But if you do as I say, you'll find out everything."

Jake didn't want to give the old man the pleasure of being his confidant, even for a moment, but Jake had to know.  He had to hear the old man say it.

"If that's true, then your wife is dead.  I saw two women tumbling out of that window.  One was Mathilda Grimes."

"The other was Arianna," Martin broke in quickly.  "I was in the woods watching.  I saw Snowflake look out the window at the two dead women below."

Jake felt a deep sense of relief, which he nonetheless tried desperately to suppress.  First of all, Martin was a liar.  Second, and despite his great affection for her, Jake wasn't all that convinced that Snowflake's continued existence was such a good thing, especially for him. 

"So even if she is alive, what's that to you?  Why do you care about her one way or the other, and what do I have to do with any of it."

"The answer to your first question is obvious,” Martin continued cooly.  “Like her mother, Snowflake is an obstacle to my continued self enrichment.  The answer to your second question is equally obvious. You, Jake, can help me get rid of her.  She still loves you, you know.  That's her weakness.  We can exploit it for our mutual benefit."

"But why do I need some old fart like you tagging along?"

"I have resources, contacts and experience.  You can't take on Snowflake on your own.  She'd eat you for breakfast.  And like I said, she can't allow you to live."

The old man had a point.  Jake alone was no match for Snowflake's incredible physical prowess, not to mention her cunning and the bevy of brutal Amazons who worked for her, and who apparently were prepared at a moment's notice to die for her.  But Jake was not quite ready to give up his newly won independence, not yet anyway.

"I'll think it over," Jake muttered.  "Where can I get in touch with you?  Should I just call this number?"

"This number won't work much longer.  I'm getting rid of this stupid cell phone.  It's too dangerous to have around.  These fancy gadgets nowadays are too easy to trace.  But you really have no more time to think about it, Jake.  You must decide now."

"And why is that?" Jake snarled, rolling his eyes.

"What time is it?" the old man asked.

Jake glanced at the timer on his phone.

"Eight thirty.  So what?"

"You're mistaken, Jake.  It's eight thirty two and twenty five seconds and counting."

Jake peered again at the time indicator.  Martin was right.

"Again I ask, so what?"

The old man's voice responded with an eerie calmness.

"You now have fifty three seconds and counting to get out of your car.  You see, one of Arianna's girls put a bomb underneath the frame, right next to the muffler I believe.  If I were you, I would pull over to the side of the road and run as fast as you can."

Suddenly Jake believed the old man.   He believed him with all his heart. 

Even though Jake could now barely catch his breath from fear, he knew that it was no time to panic.  He had no time to think either.  So, instead of running through his options, he did just as Martin had advised.  He brought the car to a screeching halt, threw open the door and ran.  But not before he had the presence of mind, or perhaps merely an instinctual sense of greed, to snatch up the briefcase filled with the five million in cash. 

His arms flailing, Jake raced wildly for a grove of oak trees and nearly pulled a calf muscle.  But panting and groaning as he was, and looking very much like a chunky middle aged man, Jake managed to get far enough away from the blast to escape the initial deadly shock waves. 

Nano seconds later, just as he passed a thick gnarled tree stump, he heard an explosion, the secondary force of which sent him flying five feet above the ground head first into a patch of colorful red and blue weeds.  Jake then sensed the metal bits of shrapnel from the car's frame racing over his head.  Next came the bitter smell of thick plumes of smoke drifting over him, and the unnerving feel of the intense heat from the exploding flames singeing his cheeks and forehead. 

Then he lay there and waited.  He waited until all he heard was the lonely crackle of fire.  Finally he turned his head and looked back.  His shattered BMW was ablaze.  Quickly Jake began to focus on his own body, his limbs and face and stomach and chest.  But aside from some bumps and scratches from the fall and some minor burns, nothing felt greatly amiss. 

Just to be sure, Jake wiggled his toes and briskly rubbed his hands over his briefcase.  Then he stood up slowly and looked himself over.  He was covered with grimy sweat, and his pants and suit jacket were torn and badly wrinkled.  But otherwise, Jake was fine.  He had not only survived the explosion intended to kill him, but he was largely unhurt. 

Suddenly he remembered his cell phone and frantically began searching the ground around him until he saw a dazzle of light sparkling from the tiny metal casing.  He picked up the gadget and put it to his ear.  He could hear Martin still asking in a worried voice if he was all right.  Jake thought about answering, but then he snapped the phone shut and dropped it into his pocket.    

It was probably Martin's people who had planted the bomb, Jake thought 

cynically.  This alleged assassination plot by Arianna was all just a ruse to show

 Jake that he could trust the old guy.  And if it really was Arianna who was

 responsible for the attack, now that she was dead, what did it matter anymore?

   But what if Snowflake had planted the bomb?  Now there was a real dilemma, 

Jake mused as he began walking slowly along the side of the road.