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  Three Nails is a tale of tragedy, redemption, and hope from the author of the bestselling Cole Sage series. To receive a free ebook copy straight to your inbox, click here.

  COLE SHOOT

  __________________________

  A Cole Sage Mystery

  MICHEAL MAXWELL

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Micheal Maxwell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Micheal Maxwell.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cole Shoot

  About the Author

  Also by Micheal Maxwell

  Copyright

  COLE SHOOT

  ONE

  Cole Sage leaned his bicycle against the wall of Kelly Mitchell’s house boat and gave the heavy leaded-glass front door a rat-a-tat-tat. The door flew open and a clearly frantic Kelly waved Cole inside.

  “I’m not ready!” Kelly said, batting at the cuffs of her jeans. “Look at this mess!”

  From the knees down Kelly’s jeans were coated in a white powdery substance.

  “What is all that?” Cole inquired.

  “The stuff out of the fire extinguisher!” Kelly huffed.

  “You had a fire?” Cole said with a panicked look toward the kitchen.

  “No, no we had a stupid safety class. And the hose on the fire extinguisher slipped out of my hand and I shot it all over my legs.”

  “A safety class?”

  “Twice a year everybody on the dock does a safety review kind of thingy to make sure we know what to do in an emergency.” Kelly stood and gave a sigh, “I’m sorry, Cole, I have to change. I’ll only be a minute.”

  The unmistakable strains of Anchors Aweigh shattered the silence. “Hello.” Kelly tried to sound chipper as she answered her cell phone. “We we’re just leaving. No, we didn’t forget you. I have no idea why Cole doesn’t answer his cell phone.” Kelly threw her hand out palm up at Cole, a clear sign of her irritation and want of an explanation.

  Cole patted his front pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Okay,” Kelly gave a big silent sigh. “We’ll be right there.” She snapped the phone shut. “Chris. Wondering where we were. Really Cole, I am in no mood for any of his drama.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought it would be a nice gesture to give him a ride to the parade. Where do you suppose I left my phone?”

  “Any of a thousand and one places,” Kelly offered, as she made her way up the spiral stairs leading to the bedroom. “How is it that we are giving your boss’s boyfriend a ride to the parade?”

  “Chris doesn’t drive. Chuck knew we were going and asked if we could give him a lift.”

  Setting in the middle of the floor, a dust covered pair of red tennis shoes called for attention. Cole scooped them up and took them outside to the side deck. He repeatedly slapped the soles together a let the wind blow the fire extinguisher’s combination of baking soda and ammonium phosphate out across the water. Not quite as bright as they were before, but no longer coated in white. He laid the shoes just inside the door as he heard Kelly making her way back to the stairs.

  “That’s better,” Cole smiled as Kelly came down the stairs in a pair of tight black jeans, a white silk blouse that buttoned up the side, and a pair of fiery red shoes with extremely pointed toes. Tied around her waist was a red and gold braided cord.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Kelly pulled at the back of her blouse. “Sorry for the less-than-sparkling greeting.”

  “It sparkled all right,” Cole teased.

  With a sweeping, almost choreographed flair, Kelly slipped her arm through the strap of the gold lame bag that was looped over the banister and spun across the five feet to where Cole stood and gave him a kiss. “Let’s go!” She said with a beaming smile and handed Cole the keys to her car.

  Try as he may, Cole could not get used to the stealth mode silence of Kelly’s new hybrid Toyota Prius. Twice he tried to restart the car at a stop signal. He had to admit, though, the dash screen that registered the fifty plus miles per gallon fuel consumption was impressive. He loved how he found himself going for block after block without ever hearing the combustion engine kick in.

  As they made their way across the Golden Gate Bridge, Cole reached over and took Kelly’s hand. The simple gesture was met with a gentle squeeze. That and the silence inside the car and the hum of the bridge seemed to bring peace to the manic frenzy that met Cole at the door. Moving through traffic and delighting in each other’s company gave the glorious seventh day of February an added luster.

  To Cole’s amazement, the space directly in front of Chuck and Chris’ house was unoccupied. The Prius slipped into the space and silently came to rest.

  “I’ll wait here.”

  “Be right back then,” Cole said turning off the engine.

  The door flew open just as Cole raised his knuckles to knock out his arrival. Standing in the doorway like a miscast character from a low budget, Hong Kong kung fu movie, stood Chris Ramos in a pair of red and black silk embroidered pajamas. He gave a deep bow.

  “Gung Hay Fat Choy!” Chris fairly burst with enthusiasm.

  “La Choy Chicken Chow Mein to you, too,” Cole said, taking in the sight of Chris’s outfit. On his feet were flat soled black silk slippers with golden dragons on the toes. Atop his head set a red skull cap with a black tassel and in his hands a pair of black tennis shoes with big red sparkling stars on the toes.

  “For the Dragon Dance,” Chris offered, seeing Cole eye the tennis shoes.

  The memory of his mother, dressed for a costume party, came into Cole’s mind. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old at the time; but he remembered clearly her shiny black silk kimono, courtesy of a neighbor’s plundering after the war. A huge, golden dragon covered most of the back. She sprayed her hair jet black and it was pulled back and held in place with a pair of lacquered chop sticks. She powdered her face with some kind of white make up and painted her lips with a very small, bright red, exaggerated bee sting lip shape. Never one to wear much make up at all, this costume and Asian make-over came as a real shock to Cole. The thing that he remembered most, though, was the black eye liner she had applied to give her eyes a distinctive almond shape, changing his very-blonde Anglo mother into a Geisha for the night.

  “So, no eye make-up to make the illusion complete?” Cole quizzed.

  “I will not play into cruel racial stereotypes,” Chris snapped.

  “And red pajamas and little tasseled yarmulke isn’t?”

  “This is a tribute, not a parody,” Chris said, holding his chin in an exaggerated incline.

  “Of course,” Cole just stared. His mind jumped from idea to idea and the rapid fire neurons made enough synaptic connections to land fully formed on the platform of twenty-first century political correctness. Were Asians as offended by Charlie Chan and John Wayne’s Attila the Hun, in The Conqueror, as African Americans are at someone in blackface? Cole just nodded his head.

  “Is there more to this outfit or are you ready to go?”

  “I am ready for the dragon! The question is, is the dragon ready for me?” Chris pulled the door closed and pranced down the steps to the sidewalk.

  “Love your blouse, Kelly,” Chris said, sliding into the back seat.

  “It’s been in the closet for ages. I never seem to remember it when I need it.”

  “I’m glad it came out,” Chris giggled. “Love the neckline. Of course you have suc
h a lovely neck anyway,” Chris gushed.

  “Where did you get those pajamas? They are gorgeous.”

  “You don’t think they’re too much?”

  “For a Chinese New Year’s celebration? Never!”

  “Tomorrow they are yours!”

  “Oh I couldn’t, they must be terribly expensive.”

  “I think you would be simply outrageous in them!” Chris giggled.

  “Girls, girls! If we can suspend the fashion Diva patter long enough to tell me where we are supposed to drop you off, Chris, it would be wonderful.”

  “Just because you’re dressed like some butch, lumberjack wanna be, you don’t have to be nasty. What’s up with Mr. Poopy Party, anyway?”

  “Sorry, but you did say ten o’clock. It is now nine forty-five.”

  “That’s better. I do appreciate the ride, but your tone, my goodness.”

  “Okay, okay. Where are we dropping you?” Cole said, looking in the rear view mirror.

  “Chinatown Community Center on Larkin and Pine. We meet there.”

  “How is it that you, pardon the obvious, a non-Chinese, was asked to be part of the News Year’s Dragon Dance?” Cole asked, pulling into traffic.

  “Tommy Fong, who I did some design work with, is the brother of the “Year of the Rat Celebration” committee chairman. I said how much I loved the Dragon Dance, and how I would love to be part of the dragon, and he offered to get me a spot. If you were nicer to people you could have nice things happen to you, too.”

  “Like spending the afternoon with my nose in somebody’s butt?

  “Ah, but you’re on the receiving end too!’ Chris giggled.

  Kelly rolled her eyes and said, “Boys, Boys can we just ride along in peace?”

  Chris folded his arms and sat with a broad grin on his face, delighted with having the last word. The banter was the best part of their friendship, and it was the struggle to get the best and last word in with Cole, that he cherished most.

  As they turned onto Larkin, Chris leaned forward and thrust the tennis shoes between the seats. “Look for my twinkle toes and you’ll know which legs on the dragon are me. Chuck can’t make it so you guys are my rooting section. “

  “We’ll be at the Great Wall later if you want to join us,” Kelly offered.

  “Thanks, but the dragon crew is having a banquet after the parade. I really do appreciate the ride.”

  “Kelly, you got the bag of marbles?” Cole asked.

  “Marbles?” Kelly asked with no clue of Cole’s meaning.

  “To throw under the dragon.”

  “Stop,” Kelly said in mock disgust. “We’ll be about half way along the parade route. You probably can’t see out, but we’ll be yelling for you.”

  “Here we go,” Cole said rolling to a stop.

  “Thanks for the ride, you guys. Anybody got a camera? I’d love a picture of my feet peeking out from under the dragon.”

  “Just the one on the phone.”

  “That will have to do! Love you, bye!” Chris chirped, bouncing from the car. As he stepped from the street to the curb, he turned and waved.

  “You’ve got to admit with all his quirks, drama, and hyper activity, he’s quite charming.”

  “Never,” Cole said waving back at Chris.

  “Do you two ever not squabble?” Kelly asked, hoping for a serious answer.

  “Never,” Cole chuckled and made a right hand turn to begin the search for a place to park.

  By noon, the wind died down and the sun was like a warm cozy quilt as Cole and Kelly made their way to the parade route. People seemed to be streaming in from everywhere. Police on motorcycles and horses patrolled the streets. Patrolmen on foot stood at intersections in a futile attempt to keep the traffic moving. Barriers and patrol cars blocked side streets and soon the sidewalks were nearly solid with people jockeying for a spot with a clear view of the parade.

  Cole decided on a corner spot near Kearny and Washington, right in front of a satellite TV store. It was just far enough away from the reviewing stand and the more tourist-centered areas for the crowds to have thinned down some. The big green awning in front of the store would be just enough to keep the sun out of their eyes, but still keep them on the warm side of the street. Even though it was near the end of the parade route, Cole figured it was a good spot because the parade turned the corner heading for Columbus and the end of the route.

  Kelly had a habit of keeping two folding chairs in the back of the car. She loved being able to have impromptu picnics with a view, and Cole loved not having to sit on the ground. With chairs unfolded and a box lunch from Nanking Restaurant on their lap, Cole and Kelly chatted and chewed away the hour before the parade would pass their location.

  Always one to be prepared, Kelly was armed with an official guide to Chinese New Year she picked up from the Chinatown Merchants Association office weeks before the parade. To Cole’s delight, she acted as his official commentator, sprinkling facts and figures from her guide book, as the first of the over one hundred entries in the parade began to pass in review.

  “The Chinese New Year’s parade has been celebrated in San Francisco since the time of the Gold Rush and is a treasured part of the heritage of the city,” Cole said in his best news anchor baritone. Knowing Kelly’s fondness for researching anything they went to, Cole did some homework of his own and would try and out-factoid Kelly’s commentary.

  “We are really good at this!” Kelly bubbled, “We should be on TV.”

  “You maybe, but I have a face strictly for radio,” Cole returned.

  The color, noise, and excitement of the parade were a stunning complement to the clear, blue sky and gentle breeze that embraced the city. Bands, acrobats, and floats with members of San Francisco’s Chinese Opera all passed by, each seeming more beautiful and elaborate than the last. Firecrackers accented the festivities with barks, sparks, and crackling that made children squeal and adults throw their hands up over their ears. The smoke and smell of gunpowder and sulfur swirled and drifted through the crowd. Civic groups tossed candy and offered flags and streamers to the people lining the streets. Applause and laughter, cheers and the banging of gongs and cymbals greeted each new section of the parade.

  An hour into the celebration Cole stood to stretch his legs.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to stretch my legs.”

  “I’ll be here.” Kelly gave him a bright smile.

  As he made his way up the street Cole took in the sight of the hundreds of jubilant spectators filling the sidewalks. He watched as a large group of people overflowed into the street like water coming over the top of a dam. The crowd seemed to move like a wave and the tone of the noise coming from their direction changed and intensified.

  Cole walked a bit further, but was stopped by the congestion. People began to move from the sidewalk to the street. A dozen or more tried to cross, dodging and cutting through the startled lines of a marching band. Cole was distracted by the sound of a man yelling behind him.

  As he turned, Cole saw an Asian man cursing and yelling as he rose to his knees, “What the hell!”

  In an instant, two Latinos dressed in red t-shirts and baseball caps stepped into the street and began punching and kicking the man. A woman in a red and gold embroidered Chinese dress stepped from the crowd and began screaming. She tried to intercede on behalf of the man who was struggling to guard against the brutal onslaught of the attack. She grabbed one of the attacker’s arms. He spun about and, with a fierce combination of punches, drove the woman to the ground. Within seconds, it was over and the two assailants disappeared back into the crowd.

  Several onlookers rushed to the aid of the woman. The noise of an approaching marching band drowned out much of the noise of the crowd, but the mood and posture of the people on the street had changed. In just moments, the waving of flags and streamers ceased. The faces of the people went from eager anticipation for the next participants in the procession, to the fear of the scene aro
und and behind them.

  Across the street to Cole’s left, the source of the first disturbance stepped off the curb and into the street. He tried to count the number of young Asian men who suddenly broke from the spectators. His view was blocked by a troop of acrobats. His best guess was ten to twelve, but the number seemed to shift and flow as they slipped in and out of his vision.

  It was obvious from their dress that these young men were part of a street gang too. They wore crisp, starched, long white t-shirts that hung nearly to their knees. Along with baggy khaki work pants, they wore snowy-white baseball caps with a black and silver FCBZ embroidered on the front. The Fire Cracker Boyz were an up-and-coming Chinese street gang Cole had read about. Most of their arms were heavily tattooed and they all wore long silver chains around their necks. Their presence, and the increased Chinatown violence of the last several months, made them an unwelcome site at the parade.

  A defensive sense of urgency came over Cole as he began moving back toward Kelly.

  “Look Cole, here it comes,” Kelly called out.

  Fifty yards up the street, the crimson Dragon snaked its way toward them. From sidewalk to sidewalk, slithering along, writhing, and rippling like a wave. Fire crackers popped by the hundreds and a bluish cloud fogged the street. Smoke puffed from the cavernous mouth as the head snapped and roared at the cheering throngs lining the street.

  The FCBZ crew stood at a sloppy version of “attention”, their arms behind their backs, only a few yards up from where Kelly stood watching the dragon. As Cole watched, a large group of red clad Latinos moved in front of Kelly. For a moment, she disappeared from his view.

  “Kelly!” Cole yelled trying to get her attention above the roar of the crowd.

  The red mass moved past him and Cole was jostled as they roughly made their way up the street.