KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set

  KNIGHT'S REPORTS

  Box Set

  Your Three Favorite E Z Knight Novels

  FROM "THE E Z KNIGHT REPORTS" SERIES

  VOLUMES 2, 3 & 4

  (VOLUME 1 PREQUEL, KNIGHT’S HELLFIRE COMING SOON!)

  BY

  Gordon A Kessler

  A Personal Message from Gordon A Kessler to the Reader:

  I've been writing thriller novels for over twenty years. I enjoy writing them almost as much as I enjoy talking about them.

  If you are entertained by this or any of my other works of fiction, could you be so kind as to drop me a quick email? I would appreciate it tremendously. Let me know who you are and what pleased you the most. I promise that I will personally respond.

  Email me and say hi!: gordon@gordonkessler.com

  Tweet me at: https://twitter.com/gordonkessler

  Link up with me at: http://www.linkedin.com/in/gordonkessler

  Pin me at: http://pinterest.com/gordonkessler

  And follow me at: www.facebook.com/gordon.kessler1

  Please stop by my website and blog at: http://gordonkessler.com/ –it's fun and you'll be glad you did.

  On the site, you'll find my blogs as well as info on not only my past work, but also on novels to come. And there's a special section giving brief bios on all the "E Z Knight Reports'" major characters. Be forewarned: you'll find a page of Oz's colorful witticisms, as well — adult readers only, please.

  My Jazzy Brass has her very own fan pages on the website, complete with photos, blog and "Jazzy Brass's Missing Scenes". You'll love her, if you don't already!

  Also, you'll discover a special section on the site highlighting the "Knight's Girls" (a little risqué) in a gallery showing the different Knight Girl for each current "E Z Knight Reports" novel covers, as well as some that are coming up.

  Enjoy!

  Want your latest Gordon Kessler novel autographed with a personal message?↓

  Click here for your free Kindlegraph!

  Dedication

  Much work goes into writing an entertaining novel, and quite a bit of it isn't done by the author. I have numerous friends and fellow authors who allow me to bounce off ideas and a couple of great editors who proofread my stories prior to publishing. They are vigilant, and help me produce what I feel is quality fiction — entertainment. I'd like to thank them now.

  Denise and Gary — once again, thank you, my good friends! I dedicate this third book in "The E Z Knight Reports" series to you.

  Also, a special dedication to the women and men of the rail industry — especially those in the field with their hands on rolling equipment. As alluded to in this novel, railroad work can be very dangerous with hazards springing up from unexpected places, constantly. This is especially true in train yards, at night, and double the dangers under adverse weather conditions. Be safe out there, my friends.

  A shout out goes to our National Guard, specifically those in Colorado and at the HAATS training center. You’re obviously doing an incredible job for your country and your state.

  A big and high “hi!” to the wonderful folks in Colorado where the girls are pretty, and the guys like to get down and dirty! Denver, Vail, Winter Park, the lovely Crested Butte area and the workers at Moffat Tunnel — you da best!

  USMC, what can I say but “Semper Fi!” I love the Corps!

  Please check out Kessler's other books

  Thriller novels:

  JEZEBEL

  DEAD RECKONING

  BRAINSTORM

  Other "The E Z Knight Reports" series novels:

  KNIGHT’S BIG EASY

  KNIGHT'S RANSOM

  Coming soon:

  KNIGHT'S LAST SHOT

  Short stories:

  "Jack Baron," nostalgic romance

  "Toothpick for Two," humorous relationship story

  Nonfiction about novel writing:

  NOVEL WRITING MADE SIMPLE

  Coming soon:

  EBOOK WRITING MADE SIMPLE

  “THE E Z KNIGHT REPORTS” SERIES

  FOREWORD

  My name is Ethan Zachariah Knight — but most folks call me E Z, like the letters "E" then "Z," or simply: Easy. It's not that hard; it is — easy.

  I'm narrating these accounts to writer Gordon A. Kessler, who will transcribe each into a report along with some supporting information he's gleaned from interviews and other research.

  These statements are required by my parole officer. She's a great gal — lovely lady — and asks little of me in return for a job I did for her once (in Knight’s Big Easy). But she does insist that I give a narrative on everything that's happened between my mandatory monthly visits. I think it's a personal thing; her life is so boring that she lives vicariously through my misadventures. The crazy thing is that she doesn't care a bit about me breaking the law — as long as the end justifies the means. I guess that's okay by me, because after reading each report I turn in, she shows it to no one else.

  And I tell her everything.

  You should know a couple of things about me from the beginning:

  1. I'm former military, and I've killed people, both here and abroad. But I've always tried to do my killing for the right reason. These days I just want to be left alone, and I avoid putting an end to people's lives as much as possible.

  2. I have a couple of kids I love dearly, but a restraining order keeps me at least 200 yards away. They live with my folks in Colorado — I spend much of my time on my sailboat in Southern California trying to keep a low profile. Like I said, I just want to be left alone.

  3. Why the restraining order? I was convicted of murdering my wife — my children's mother. Of course I'm innocent, and I found proof after escaping from prison a while back. In the process, I got even with two dirty FBI special agents who were involved in my wife's death. As far as I'm concerned, their deaths were self-defense. Still, I haven't been able to prove the Federal agents' involvement yet. Being dead, they can't confess. Too bad, I'd love to make them talk.

  Due to lack of evidence on the dead Feds and other extenuating circumstances, the court considered my involvement in their deaths involuntary manslaughter. The prosecution also took into account the proving of my own innocence in my wife's killing. In a plea bargain, I was sentenced to ten years' probation plus the three years I'd been behind bars — time served. I might add: some favorable outside influences from my past got involved on my behalf.

  I'll get around to telling this whole story when the time is right. But, for a man who has yet to look forty in the eye, a whole bunch of my story is yet to be lived, let alone told.

  Oh, and — did I mention: I just want to be left alone?

  That's the skinny on me.

  I hope you and Parole Officer Tamara White Cloud are entertained by these reports. And please excuse the colorful language, risqué encounters and violence — it's what my life has become.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  KNIGHT'S BIG EASY

  KNIGHT’S LATE TRAIN

  KNIGHT’S RANSOM

  KNIGHT'S BIG EASY

  AN E Z KNIGHT NOVEL

  FROM

  "THE E Z KNIGHT REPORTS" SERIES

  VOLUME 2

  BY

  Gordon A Kessler

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading
this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Knight's Big Easy Copyright © 2012 Gordon A Kessler.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover Designed by: Gordon A Kessler. Copyright © 2012 Gordon A Kessler http://gordonkessler.com

  ASIN: B008GDW7PY Version 7-07-12

  ISBN-13: 978-1478182498

  ISBN-10: 1478182490

  Vicki H-B, Tonya C, Gary C, Denise B — thank you, my good friends!

  I dedicate this "The E Z Knight Reports" series novel to you.

  PROLOGUE

  Spiders and Snakes

  5:00 AM, Honey Island Swamp, Louisiana

  "Where Y’at, boy?"

  US Marine Lance Corporal Billy White Cloud ducks the flashlight beam and glances at the two small blonde children he holds protectively. The muddy water has dried on their young faces, but the three and four-year-olds have stopped crying. He's unsure how much longer they can hold out — or even how long he can, chest high in the cool swamp water.

  "We gonna find ya’s, boy," the fat man in the bateau shouts. "Y'know that. Jus' a matter o’time. ‘Bout sixty dee-grees out there. Don’t sound so bad, but you get that hypothermia in less than two hours. You been out here for o’er three. An’ those kids — they gonna catch their deaths. Y’jus' gettin' chilled out there f'no good damn reason. Good fo' gators and moccasins, though. They'm like their food cold."

  The bayou smells of decaying plants and muck. Billy scans the darkness for the hundredth time, wondering how the hell he could have gotten into such a mess. The fat man's flashlight beam illuminates dozens of eyes from the darkness — and they're all set on Billy. He's never seen a real alligator outside a zoo, and he absolutely hates snakes.

  His arms are getting tired and his legs are cold and crampy. Shivers are coming in strong waves that make his teeth rattle when they’re not clenched.

  "We ain't gonna hurt those babies none. I's the parish sheriff, son. Y’can trust me — Sheriff Jimmie Babeuf DePue. I'll take good care o'those orphans."

  Billy wonders about the “orphans” part. How were these children orphaned — did the sheriff have a hand in that, too?

  The boat edges closer to the clump of vines and swamp grass they're hiding behind, and the little girl starts to sob again.

  Something bumps into Billy's arm, and at first he thinks it's an alligator.

  It's only a six-foot piece of drift wood. But the four-year-old girl's tiny face wrenches in fear.

  "No-no," Billy whispers. "It's only a log — it's a piece of wood." He gently places his forehead against the child's, but he can barely see her eyes in the darkness. "Don't cry. They'll hear you. We've got to be real quiet. I'll get you out of here just as soon as they go."

  "Écoute, boy!" the sheriff shouts. "Y’better hear me one last time. Y’alone out there. Y’gonna die if’n I don't find ya's. Y’come on out, now." He pauses. His tone indicates his real feelings — he booms, "Boy! I's the sheriff, an' I's gonna shoot y’ass for kidnappin' when I find ya’s, if'n ya don't come out right now!"

  The boat's too close. They'll be on them within a few seconds. It doesn't take Billy any time at all to run through his options — he has none.

  He strikes quickly, not caring about the noise he makes.

  The water erupts as two shotguns discharge in unison.

  CHAPTER 1

  Born on the Bayou

  All she's wearing are Mardi Gras beads, a holstered .45 and a smile that stretches all the way across her lovely face.

  The beautiful redhead stands over me in her magnificence — I seem to be lying in her bed.

  "Mon chéri," she says, softly, "you're awake!"

  I'm saving my words. I want to hear more of what she says first. If I ask her where I am, she'll know I've awakened without recall and might shape the last few hours’ events to her liking and without regard to my perception.

  I slowly scan her lovely body, taking the time to admire every inch of her, and I think this must be a dream. The DoubleTap .45 ACP pistol doesn't concern me yet, since it's still snuggled in the small leather holster she has strapped to her thigh.

  Believe it or not, a lot of the women I regularly hang with wear a holstered handgun of one kind or another. For some I think it's a power trip — a sort of dominance thing. Many of them seem to get a rush from wearing their own phallus when they make love. I don't care for this practice so much, myself.

  But, man-oh-man, I have to admit I love the women who do.

  A sheer window curtain beside the bed flows airily in a light, warm breeze and a small television on a nearby dresser is turned low. On the TV there’s a parade with soft street noise; a little traffic and muted voices.

  I try to move on the sweat-dampened bed, but I can't. Quickly I realize I have no clue where I am or how I got here — or how I'm going to get these damn fur-lined handcuffs off.

  "You don't talk?" She frowns at me, unholsters the Heizer Defense .45 and raises it. "After last night, you don't even tell me good morning?" The little DoubleTap pistol is a bit disconcerting. It’s only a two-shot, but having both barrels chambered with .45 caliber ACP in an over-and-under configuration, it is very threatening.

  I ignore the mean little handgun and jerk at the two sets of handcuffs. But they're firmly attached to the steel-framed headboard. I check my feet and see panty hose securing my ankles to the short bedposts on the small twin-size bed. I find I’m covered with scratches and bruises. I can't tell for sure, but I think I'm naked under the thin towel laying across my middle.

  "I must leave you for a little while," she says.

  After replacing her pistol into its holster, she goes to a wooden chair next to the bed. Even though she gave the French greeting, I recognize her accent is probably Texan.

  "Now don't you get all worked up and hurt our little bundle of joy there," she says, nodding to the lump on the bed beside me. “I just fed her.”

  Bundle of joy? I think my heart’s going to stop as I gaze at the sheet-covered mound. What the hell happened to me? How long have I been out? Have I assumed someone else's life?

  Then I see a small tail, and I’m relieved ... unless I’ve spawned some kind of she-devil.

  The redhead says. "I think she's asleep — can't tell since her eyes are still closed."

  As the woman sticks her feet into some red pumps, I remember the open window. I consider calling out for help but think better of it. Maybe I don't really want help. I just wish I could remember how I ended up in this lovely woman's bed — and whether or not I had a good time once I got here.

  "You'd better let me go, or you'll find nothing but splintered boards and twisted metal when you get back."

  She goes to a double closet, one side labeled Studs and the other Phillies. She opens the Phillies door, and items hanging from the inside bang against it softly. The closet rod is full of black leather. One outfit looks like a Latex Cat Woman suit.

  I can’t help but imagine what this woman looks like in that getup.

  Then I notice a leather one that clearly leans toward dominatrix. Beside it is a French maid’s micro-dress, and next in line is a schoolgirl outfi
t.

  Still naked except for the red pumps, she takes one of the items on the door and raises it. At first I think it’s some sort of black club, but when she turns it on, I realize it’s a two-foot vibrating and gyrating dildo.

  “What the Hell?”

  She smiles. “That’s the exact same thing you said last night — but you got used to it.” She turns the thing off. “Better save ol’ Big Bad John’s batteries.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Now don’t worry none. It’ll be our little secret.” She’s now toying with a cat-o’-nine-tails hanging next to the big sex toy.

  “When I get back and you’re ready …,” she says, opening the Studs side of the closet, “… you’ll find your clothes in here.”

  More leather.

  “I’m ready now — let me go!”

  She laughs and pushes one outfit sideways for me to get a better look from the bed. It’s a leather-hooded suit with a rubber ball hanging by a strap from the hood.

  “Not this one, silly,” she says with a smirk. “Although you did really enjoy that ball in your mouth last night.”

  She pulls a hanger out next to the S&M outfit. It’s the clothes I’d been wearing.

  “I had these dry cleaned.”

  “Lady, if you don’t let me go now ... I won’t promise I’ll treat you like a lady when I get loose.”

  "Oh, E Z — you're still my tiger." She scrunches up her nose and growls. "Even after last night? And I thought it was all those hallucinogenic drugs you had. If we live through this, we might just have a fun future after all!”

  She slips a peach-colored sun dress over her nude body. It fits like body paint above her waist, but flares out from there down to just above her knees.