At 69, John Sandes is a retired Seattle cop and troubled soul searching for peace in the tropical climate of Sri Lanka. Instead, he finds himself in a nightmare. He comes across a rotten town ruled by two rival criminal organizations, and a chance encounter brings John to witness an unspeakable crime, which awakens a slew of emotions, past ghosts and demons alike, igniting a rage inside him like.
What begins as a simple act of intervention soon develops into a game of survival. Caught between two dangerous gangs and his questionable code of justice, John must navigate a world where right and wrong are constantly blurred. Each decision pulls him closer to the edge of becoming the very thing he once fought against. He finds himself gradually fighting to keep his sanity and not get dragged into his own inner hell.
As bullets fly and alliances shift, John races against time, not just to save innocent lives, but to hold on to what’s left of his own.
Unleash the Fury is a gritty, high-stakes East-meets-West thriller where morales are few and far between, and the cost of doing the right thing might be everything.
Life, sometimes, is amusing. No matter how good or bad things get, there are still sides, and you end up choosing one. You go in one direction, trying to come to terms with the decision, thinking in your mind that maybe you should’ve done things differently. Either way, you could end up dead before you know it. I had spent the majority of my later years alone. Retirement made my life much calmer, but at times also dull. Transitioning to private investigations helped maintain a sense of purpose in my life. I liked to relax as much as anyone else, but all play and no work was not something I could be content with.
I awoke promptly at six o’clock in the morning, stretched my arms above my head, and let out a long yawn. Minutes later, I was sipping a large cup of joe and staring out the window. I took a slow swallow—inhaling the aroma through my nostrils. I finished the coffee a few minutes later, let out a long relaxing breath, set the cup down, and headed to the shower.
I stared at my body in the mirror. I had lost the stomach flab that had been plaguing me for most of my fifties and sixties by upping the exercise and watching what I ate. My belly was flat, although the soft pudge would start to come back once in a while if I ate or drank too much. But I had been attentive. A few years ago, I had weighed about two hundred pounds, which, at that time, had been my highest weight ever. Now, I weighed even more—two hundred and ten—but looked thinner due to increased exercising and diet changes. Most days, I did a minimum of fifty push-ups and sit-ups. I added more daily walking exercises, joined a local gym, and started taking swim classes. I didn’t lift weights too much, but the slight adjustments had still made a big difference.
I turned on the hot water and soaked my body, the hot steam slowly waking me up. I stood there for a good sixty seconds—just letting the water run down me. I dried myself off and picked up the small can of Barbasol to lather my face and neck, then slowly brought the razor down until I had removed all of the several days of stubble. I got dressed and walked through the living room to the small kitchen, took a water bottle and a few pieces of fruit from the fridge, sat down in a chair, and ate in silence for several minutes, just staring off into space.
An hour later, it was just past seven thirty, and I was walking on the warm white shore of Galle Beach, wearing thin khaki pants, a light short-sleeved collared shirt, and brown boots. It was the beginning of January 2009. I had retired from the Seattle Police Department a little over three years ago, where I had been a detective for many years. Within a matter of months, I started doing freelance investigations. Most of the cases weren’t anything exciting—typical divorce cases, tax fraud investigations. Some high-profile cases came up occasionally, such as the kidnapping of a politician’s daughter. I had quickly gotten to the bottom of that one, exposing a group of young hooligans trying to extort some quick cash from a wealthy public figure. At sixty-nine, I was more than glad to be done with the police department.
Never having been outside the western hemisphere my entire life, I decided on a trip to Sri Lanka and had been on vacation for the last month. Since my arrival, I’d been staying in a small apartment in the Galle Beach area. Except for flying in through Colombo, I had not seen any part of the rest of the country. Later today, I planned to explore, possibly east around Dondra. I’d check out of my apartment and load my one suitcase and small backpack into my rental car. It was great to travel light and not worry about lugging around a bunch of crap like most tourists.
I was happy to finally be able to see some of the exotic places I’d always wondered about. The weather was warm, about eighty-five degrees, which was a hell of a lot warmer than Seattle. As far as I was concerned, I had no desire to go back to Seattle or anywhere in the rainy Pacific Northwest any time soon. I felt a little sweat running down my legs despite my thin pants so I rolled my pant cuffs up a little. No matter the temperature, I never wore shorts. Even when I went jogging, I would wear light warm-up pants. The only time I wore shorts was when I went swimming, making sure to quickly change back into some sort of pants. I felt uncomfortable showing my legs for some reason. It felt weird to me. It had taken me a while to get over my fear of exposing my legs, even for short durations. I had regularly gone swimming here at the beach, but I always had to run back and put on some long pants once I stepped out of that water. Maybe it’s silly, but that’s me.
I glanced around, embracing the beautiful view of the bright blue ocean water and lovely palm trees. Walking around for quite some time, I realized it was almost eleven o’clock. I needed some food, and maybe an alcoholic beverage. It had been several days since my last libation. Being on vacation, I had consumed more than I probably should have. I felt as fit as a fiddle. Cheating a little on food and beverage wouldn’t hurt me too badly. I slapped my mostly hard abs with my hand as I walked toward the nearby beach restaurant. I studied the menu at the door, noticing the Indian and Asian cuisine assortment. A few minutes later, a young man who looked like he may have been Sinhalese seated me. He asked if I would like to sit inside or outside. I chose the outside patio. The inside looked too crowded, and besides, I enjoyed the fresh ocean air.
I was escorted to a table and told someone would be with me shortly. A young brunette was sitting by herself two tables over. I gazed across the patio. I spotted a man appearing to be in his eighties who was reading a newspaper while holding a drink, also alone. The slight breeze in the air felt good. A different young man came by to take my order, a scotch on the rocks, which once again broke my dietary habits. The man returned and set the scotch down. I picked up the glass, took a sip, and swished it around my mouth before swallowing. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
A few minutes later, a different waiter came over and took my food order. I ordered a local noodle dish with an assortment of vegetables with spices. It had a bit of an odd taste, hard for my taste buds to get used to. My stomach missed familiar American food. Another hour later, I finished, paid my bill, and walked back to my apartment to check out. I was ready to hit the road and further explore this foreign land.
I stared at myself in the rearview; my madras hat was on, and my face was clean-shaven. I felt pretty damn good as I headed east to Dondra by car.
Mehliana, the area I had pulled into, was a one-horse town, not very impressive. Thirty to forty minutes west of where I was heading, it was right along the water. Dirt streets and run-down buildings, there was not much to look at. One thing was sure. It wasn’t on any official maps. I had spent my fair share of time in Podunk towns, but deep down, no matter what I tried to tell myself, I was a city man at heart. I liked paved roads to stand on and bright lights to gaze at during the night. This little blink of an eye was a place to fill up, get a quick bite to eat, and maybe spend the night if you had no other choice. I parked my car just off the road in front of a shabby-looking fuel station with a restaurant attached to it. A few other assorted businesses and establishments were short walking distance; many looked closed. I took my madras hat off, threw it in the back seat, and exited the vehicle. I made my way to the restaurant entrance.
Then I happened to stare in her direction, which marked the exact time the shitshow started. The woman was short, frail, dark brown complexion and dark hair, and looked in her midtwenties. Two men escorted her, one at each side grabbing an arm. The three of them were exiting the restaurant as I approached. She struggled to break free from their grip, yelling at both men. They gave me a hard stare. I stared back.