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 Category:  General Fiction
  Posted: January 5, 2020      Views: 82
Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6... 

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Retired Marine; retired high school teacher; married 34 years; father of three; five grandchildren; one rescue granddog.

He is a top ranked author at the #12 position.

He is an accomplished novelist and is currently at the #4 spot on the rankings.

He is an accomplished poet and is currently at the #22 spot on this years rankings.

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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
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Chapter 2 of the book The Pitches
Pez turns twelve.
"Three Strikes" by Bill Schott

Peril and Pom Pon Peril have a son, Pez, and live outside the law. Pez has been trained to be a criminal.

Turning twelve was big for Pez. There had been times he'd thought he wouldn't make it. Some of his friends hadn't. He was spending his birthday in the visiting area of the prison, waiting to talk to his dad before the hearing in the afternoon.

Peril had been sentenced to a couple of nickels during his formative adult years, but those two five-year stints were enough to set him up for the Three Strikes rule. The sentencing this afternoon would be for life.

Pez stepped into the familiar room where outsiders could visit inmates.  There were six large tables set in column and row formation, with two chairs on either side of each table. A special pass from the warden allowed him to visit, though he wasn't an adult. Pez was the only visitor and his father, Peril, was already sitting at the far table.

"Hey, Pez! How's my bestest bud?"

Pez sighed with a partial smile and sat across from his father.

"Things are lookin' good. You think they might just turn you loose tomorrow and call it even?"

“If that happens, George Bush will prob’ly accuse his boss the president of sellin jets to them Iranians or Iraqians, whatever .”

“Who’s George Bush?”

Peril looked at Pez with a hint of surprise. Sure he was only twelve, but didn’t the schools still teach kids who the Vice-President was?

"You don't know who George Bush is?"

"Not unless he has a bag for Mr. Sam. I spend all my time doing pickups; I don't remember my own name most of the time."

"You still workin' for that friggin' back stabber? He's why I'm in this shit hole and getting' a permanent room."

Pez looked in his father's eyes and flashed a quick grin.

"Things will even out shortly, Pop. All old debts will get paid up, and, like my buddy Sink says, 'Da woym will toyn.'"

Peril looked at his son, seemingly for the first time as an adult. Twelve was young for some, but he knew Pez was twelve going on thirty.

"Wish your mother could see you makin' your mark, Pez."

The thought of his mother pulled the blood from his face. A cold gripped him and he could feel his body shiver. He tried to look at his father without losing his composure. If he hadn't trained himself to transfer his emotions to an internal place, he would be ripping the man's throat out with his teeth. Instead, he smiled.

"So -- the plans are set and all will go well this afternoon."

With that said, Pez rose and stepped off towards the door.

"See you at Teddy's. I'll buy you a root beer," said Peril.

Pez talked over his shoulder as he opened the door to leave.

"Don't forget to add the rum."

Stepping out the door, Pez left the prison and walked to a car that was waiting for him. He would head for the city and prepare for his father's courtroom escape.


The book continues with Rushed Roulette . We will provide a link to it when you review this below.
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