The
Palm Reader
Jackson
Walker #2
by
Christopher Bowron
Genre:
Thriller, Suspense
“… fantastic characters and a truly spellbinding plot—the best book in its genre I have ever read.” —Susan Keefe, TheColumbiaReview.com
“A gripping thriller, which excels in unusual twists and turns, explorations of family heritage and truths, and one man’s ongoing journey as he explores new connections and threats to his life.” —Diane Donovan, Midwest Book Review
Jackson Walker once again faces his demons in this haunting sequel to Devil in the Grass. Now working as an investigative lawyer for Peter Robertson, Jack teams with Janie Callaghan to solve the disappearance of a sleazy client specializing in taboo pornography. Meanwhile the evil head of the Church of Satan weaves an intricate web to lure Walker as the sacrificial lamb in an Everglades Black Mass ritual.
A TALL, MUSCLE-BOUND POLICE officer ushered Jackson Walker reluctantly away from his grandfather by putting a forceful hand on the back of his head, the other on one of his bound arms. The McFadden property, now overrun by cops, news crews and forensic teams, no longer seemed
creepy. Lit-up, it looked ready for a film shoot—not the house of horrors it had been an hour back, shrouded in darkness with the smell of the Everglades and death all-pervading.
The carnage strewn across the estate would be picked apart, piece by piece, every inch scoured for incriminating evidence until its dark secrets were revealed to all who might have the stomach and desire to know them.
Jack, with the help of his Seminole cousins and a law clerk named Janie Callaghan, heroically brought down the Church of Set, a satanic cult based in Southwest Florida. Its evil leader, Henrietta LePley, along with her henchmen, the McFadden brothers, Eric, Isaac and Jimmy, all found their lives at an end earlier in the evening, and deservedly so. They were evil, hearts rotten to the core, especially the McFaddens, who were killers of a serial nature.
Though Walker would most likely be cleared of the alleged killings of two elderly people a week back in Clewiston, he would first need to be detained. The burly officer ushered him into a police van; the reinforced double-back door slammed shut with a loud clang before the locking mechanism engaged.
Sitting across from Jack, to his utter shock, was Mason Matye, a high-ranking leader within the American branch of the Church of Satan. The cops surely made a mistake placing the two in the
same vehicle. Matye, like Jack, was one of the few survivors of the haunting events of that evening. Jack felt slightly better seeing the Satanist’s hands were similarly bound with plastic flex cuffs. Their eyes met in the dark van.
“Jackson Walker,” said the man in his thick, Parisian French accent. His coal-black eyes were like lasers searing into the back of Jack’s skull and drying his throat. A wry smile formed on the man’s lips. “You have proven very resourceful.” His eyes were unrelenting. “You made a deal with the Devil, Mr. Walker, about a week back. I know you remember.”
Jack laid into him. “The Devil? Stop with the crap, you satanic fuck. I made no such deal with any Devil: Satan, or Set, or whatever name you want to call him!”
Mason only smiled, the way any Satanist would, his eyes narrowing and his mouth forming a taut smile. “Ah. Perhaps you thought you made a deal with Henrietta. We both serve a higher being—as agents, you might say, Mr. Walker. I hope you will not make the same mistake twice. It’s time to pay up, one way or another. You see, the beauty of being a Devil worshiper . . . it’s expected of you to be dastardly. I take great pleasure in it.” His eyes narrowed as he whispered through pursed lips, “We
know where your family lives. We will watch your every move, be it as a free man, or in a prison cell. This isn’t finished.”
Jack studied the man, his eyes not leaving Mason. “Don’t tell me,” Jack said sarcastically, “the Church of Satan has connections within the state prison system?”
“Each and every state, Mr. Walker. Your incarceration will be a perfect hell. If you are lucky enough to make it there.” He lifted his foot to his cuffed wrists, resting it on the detention van’s bench seat. He deftly pulled out a thin blade hidden in the heel of his shoe. With his fingertips he ran the steel edge across the plastic tie and, gritting his teeth, began to cut through the
plastic. Jack couldn’t believe this was happening after all he’d been through that day. “Fucker!” He hurled himself at the vile little Frenchman, catching him in the chin with his shoulder. The force of the blow drove Mason’s head into the wall of the van. The blade clattered to the floor. Both men ended up face to face on their sides trying to capture the blade.
Mason spit at Jack, covering his face with blood and saliva.
“Merde! You will die, Walker. Count on it!”
Jack did his best to head-butt the man but didn’t have the leverage with his hands tied, so the effort ended in more of a head rub than a useful smack. Mason scrambled to grab the knife. Jack pushed himself up against the bench and tried to regain his footing. Mason pulled his feet back to his hands and, with a couple of frantic pulls, cut his bonds.
Jack, having only freed his feet, hauled back and kicked Mason’s throat. There was a sickening crack and Jack hoped something gave way. Mason made a horrible gurgle, like a clogged drain being emptied. Jack kicked him again, this time in the face. He felt the man’s nose snap.
Clank. The back doors to the van opened abruptly. Two armed officers jumped into the back, grabbing both of them. Jack yelled, “The fucker’s got a knife!”
One officer grabbed Jack by the hair, expertly herding him out of the van. Within seconds, and with the aid of a fellow officer, he found himself in the back of the police cruiser. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matye receiving similar treatment.
After that, the night became a blur.
Christopher Bowron
has always loved a great story, and possesses a unique gift of the
magic to tell one. He can be described as a “thriller writer,
with a mysterious undertone,” who can take his readers on
believable journeys to the sharp edge of reality and the
paranormal. The use of seat belts is optional while reading his
work, but you may need to buckle up and hold on tight from time to
time.
Christopher’s
roots are Canadian, and his two children make the fifth generation of
his family to live in Niagara-on-the-Lake Ontario. His other
home in Southwest Florida, in an area of everglades and ocean,
provided him with ammunition for his imagination. This inspired his
love of writing, and became the backdrop in the creation of his first
published, best-selling novel. “Devil In The Grass” and
soon to be released sequel “The Palm Reader.”
He is fortunate to
be able to live his own personal great story, which includes
graduating from Brock University with a Bachelor of Arts in History,
creating a wonderful family and life, running a successful real
estate brokerage, having the opportunities to enjoy fine wine, sports
and getting away to do some salt water fishing in Florida whenever
possible.
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