Trailer Park Princess

  Trailer Park Princess

  Brass Knuckles and Tattered Wings #2

  Season One

  Action Thriller

  by

  Martin Svolgart

  AFTER A FREAK ACCIDENT killed his wife and son, Pritchard slipped into alcoholism to drown his sorrows at a blue-collar bar nearby to avoid the dead and empty house. But then a teenage girl asked for his help, and it turned his entire existence around.

  Now Pritchard sets out to find purpose in doing what he does best: Make people feel safe. Does that make him a shiny white knight? Absolutely not! Pritchard’s past as a lackey for the Italian mob in Hell’s Kitchen has equipped him with a different set of skills.

  Pritchard isn’t afraid of running headfirst into a fight, if he thinks something deserves his attention. A woman trying to escape a deadbeat, domineering husband certainly fits. He isn’t afraid of digging out the brass knuckles to get his point through a thick skull. Yet this time, something more clever is needed.

  Even though he’s left Hell’s Kitchen again, the re-forged friendships are sticking with him. He might be alone on the road, but he’s not alone when the trouble he stirs up gets fun.

  With brass knuckles and tattered wings, he gets to be someone’s angel again.

  Copyright © 2020 MarLau Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  ISBN: 978-87-93966-07-9

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by Juan Padrón

  Edited by Avril Stepowski

  MarLau Publishing

  Denmark

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  Table of Contents

  Day 21

  Day 22

  Day 23

  Day 24

  Day 25

  Day 26

  Day 28

  Day 29

  Day 30

  Sneak Peek of Home Field Advantage

  About the Author

  Day 21

  TWENTY-ONE DAYS AGO, Pritchard had taken Rose home and reunited her with her dad. He’d fixed her scooter in his garage, cleaned out the house, and quit his job.

  There was nothing left for him in Glens Falls where he’d moved to give Monica and Zack a safe and wonderful life.

  Best foot forward had meant taking a few steps backward to find his footing, and Pritchard still felt a deep sense of purpose when remembering Rose’s words. He was her angel.

  Someone out there needed an angel. A criminal one, sure, but hey, it had worked out perfectly for Rose. Cops did what they could, and what they couldn’t or wouldn’t touch, Pritchard’s past and position put him on the playing field.

  Socially, that probably wasn’t an acceptable answer, but the world of crime he’d grown up in was a parallel society in its own right. Just because those higher up the social ladder didn’t recognize it as such didn’t mean it didn’t exist. It merely meant that their laws, made from a perspective that was blind to other people’s realities, didn’t work. With no grasp of the reality and reasons behind such a parallel society, it was merely powerful people trying to bully others into living like them without seeing that they had too little in common to be able to.

  It left a lot of people in limbo. Like the sixteen-year-old honor roll student with a drunk dad in trouble and no one to call, except she’d had Pritchard’s number. Had she called the police...what would they have done against a hand-me-down mob brother? Given him a fine for double parking in front of his legal bordello? They couldn’t pin shit on him.

  But Pritchard could. And he had. And a young girl had her entire future in front of her again. He wasn’t even ashamed of admitting that he’d loved the rush. The adrenaline. The training, the bite to his knuckles after impact, and the feeling of a sore body after...victory.

  No one said that way of life was pretty, and Pritchard didn’t try to sugarcoat it or make it sounds more sparkly in his own ears by trying to apologize for the man he’d become.

  Mainly, he didn’t apologize because backstepping down that road to find his footing had also meant that Pritchard learned how much he’d changed since leaving crime behind to be a husband and a father—however short-lived that dream had been. To see the kind of man his best friend, Cat, had become by staying in that way of life was one Pritchard didn’t want to end up evolving into.

  Therefore, he’d taken to the open road, searching for the next opportunity to relive the sensation of having purpose in life. He was no longer a husband and a father, but he’d learned something unbelievably valuable while being one.

  Twenty-one days. That’s how long it had been since Rose had waved him off to seek out her own life’s fortune, stronger and more confident from having known him, a criminal. How could someone not find pride in having helped that happen?

  Oh, and she’d taken up boxing after school. Yeah, she was set.

  He still drank on occasion, but he no longer needed it every day or to numb the feeling of emptiness. He’d have a drink in whatever motel room he’d ended up in while reading a book. And he’d read a lot of books since Rose. He’d pick one up when he stumbled upon it, and he’d leave it behind in the motel room he’d finished it in, hoping someone else would benefit from it.

  He kept training, too, strengthening his shoulder. He was no longer Pudgy Pricky as Cat had called him, but he was far from his glory days, too. He knew he needed to strive for that, though. He never knew what he’d be up against when the next person, needing an angel of his kind, crossed his path.

  DRIVING AROUND THE country was boring, though. At times. Food could be boring, too, but he kept his mind busy by reviewing small diners. It had become a hobby. Since he was lying low and thus didn’t use the internet that much, he didn’t do blogs or anything, he just found it amusing to have a little notebook with it.

  In that notebook, he also put down his small acts as a vigilante angel.

  Rolling into a midsized town in Idaho, he saw three moms with strollers having gathered to chat, so he pulled in and got out, leaving the car on and standing in the door.

&nb
sp; “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m sorry to interrupt, but is there a good diner in this town?”

  One of the moms smiled, then pointed. “Two blocks down, then turn left. It’ll show up on your right.”

  “Thank you.” He got back in and headed that way.

  He parked the car and went in, enjoying that little break from sitting in the car. Today’s special was his usual go-to, but fish wasn’t exactly his favorite. He let the waitress recommend something and ate a three-star burger with soggy bacon.

  Sometimes, like that day, he doubted he’d find another one like Rose to help out again. The small wins were fun and all, but it didn’t exactly let him do much but spend a lot of money on fuel and motels.

  So far, the small wins had counted decking a purse snatcher who made the mistake of running Pritchard’s way. Also, a young man holding up a convenience store with a knife. Two men following a woman, obviously making her uncomfortable, so he followed them, making them so uncomfortable that they ditched her trail. And he kept following them until they’d had enough and engaged him. He left them with shiners, took their driver’s licenses, and warned them to stay off the woman, or he’d return with brass knuckles.

  He didn’t keep the licenses and tossed them as soon as he’d left.

  After having eaten, Pritchard went for a walk, needing to stretch his legs after having been cooped up in a car. He didn’t yet know whether he planned on staying in that town, considering he could make it to the next one. He knew perfectly well that he needed some sort of plan or MO for finding someone to help, but until he got that together, he’d wing it.

  It was one of the reasons he’d begun reading crime fiction and action thrillers. To maybe inspire himself.

  Pritchard turned a corner in time to see a woman pass a man, exciting a shop. The man slapped her ass, and the woman cried out and looked at him.

  Pritchard could clearly see the hurt in her eyes and that she didn’t know him.

  “Come on, darling, it’s all in good fun. Take it as a compliment,” the guy said, leaving the woman at a loss for words.

  Someone had done that to Monica once, and she’d turned around and punched the guy’s teeth in.

  Pritchard sped up a bit to get there, then slapped the guy’s ass as hard as he could. The man howled from pain and surprise and turned to look at Pritchard.

  “Aw, come on, you like it.” Pritchard winked at the man. “A little surprise pet on the ass makes everybody’s day, doesn’t it? Compliments and all that.”

  The man apparently didn’t agree with his own philosophy and threw a punch. Pritchard weaved and punched him in the stomach, then pushed him over into a pile of boxes in front of a small store.

  “I’m calling the police!” a woman shouted.

  Pritchard looked up to find a small elderly woman in the door to the store ten feet away. “Good! Then have them pick up this piece of shit for assaulting women.” Pritchard pointed to the man still heaving for air. He then nodded to the woman who’d been slapped on the ass and walked off.

  “Thank you!” she shouted.

  He turned and flashed a smile. “You’re welcome!”

  Well, that was fun. Considering how much his palm hurt, that guy had to have a big fat handprint on his ass now. But it left for an easy decision whether to stay in town or not. Once he’d done something like that, he left immediately, not needing the heat. He went back to his car, got in, and drove past the place he’d just decked the guy to see if the shop owner really had called the cops. By the looks of it, she hadn’t, and both the man and woman were gone.

  It left him with another three hours alone in a car with nothing but the radio or a playlist and thoughts on how the hell he was going to find another Rose.

  It was getting late by the time he found a motel. He checked in, took a shower, and tossed himself on the bed.

  Not being sleepy yet, he flipped through the channels on the TV, knowing he should turn it off and read a book instead.

  Day 22

  PRITCHARD ROLLED INTO a small town of eleven thousand something people and booked a motel room. He then ate at the diner ten minutes’ walk from there. Their meatloaf was fantastic.

  After that, he walked around to get familiarized with the place. Also, he needed intel, and the best place for that was at bars. Someone there would always be a gossip and tell people what was going on.

  He entered one that looked to be a blue-collar bar, much like the one he’d met Rose in, finding twelve men and three women. Most sat and chatted, a few played a game, and two elderly gentlemen played darts, listening to old classics at a level that allowed for chatting.

  He found a spot by the bar.

  The bartender came to him soon after. “What can I get you?”

  “Just a beer, thanks.”

  She walked off and returned with a draft of something a moment later. Pritchard put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and left the change there. A parasite would hopefully try to chat him up for a beer, and Pritchard could ask his questions.

  While waiting, he tried to classify the people in there the way he had at his own bar. It was a mixed bunch, but there seemed to be that sense of camaraderie he’d felt between the people where he’d hung out before Rose’s call set this ball rolling. The biggest difference now was how he saw himself, and it made him smile. He wasn’t the sorriest SOB there nor the one feeling the most self-pity.

  A guy took the bait and came to stand next to him before Pritchard had finished his first beer.

  Had to be a leach considering the bartender, scrolling through her phone, eyed him but didn’t come over to ask what he needed.

  “Hey, you’re a new face,” the guy said.

  “Yeah, just passing through.”

  “Traveling salesman?”

  Pritchard looked off in thought. Perfect cover. “Yeah. Auto parts.”

  “Cool.” The guy nodded, glancing at Pritchard’s beer.

  “You?” Pritchard asked, then drained his beer and flagged down the bartender, motioning for her to get both him and his new friend a beer. Her look even seemed to be a silent warning, but she didn’t comment and placed two beers.

  “Thanks, man.” The new friend smiled. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

  “Stu.” Pritchard shook the man’s hand.

  “I work at the steel mill in the other end of town,” Johnny said, hopping up on the stool next to Pritchard. “Pretty good gig.”

  “Is that a big place?”

  “Yeah, it is. Two generations, and the third’s taking over soon.”

  “And this is where the excitement happens after the whistle blows?” Pritchard looked around the bar.

  Johnny laughed, shaking his head. “Nah. Nothing really exciting happens around here.” He leaned in a bit. “Depending on what you’re looking for, of course.”

  Pritchard leaned in, hoping for more. “Oh? Like what?”

  “Well, there’s a poolhall in town where you only go if you have deep pockets and skills. The Dalton brothers run that place.”

  Four guys in different heights and yellow and black prison jumpsuits flashed before Pritchard’s inner eye. But those four characters from a cartoon were probably not who Johnny referred to.

  Two beers later on Pritchard’s tab, and the price had been worth the information. He thanked the man for the chat and left, ignoring the hint for him to come back and buy him more beers tomorrow.

  Day 23

  THE NEXT DAY, PRITCHARD worked on his alibi as a spare part’s salesman. He’d have to have something for it. A catalogue, a logo, stuff like that. He emailed a few questions to Trevor, since he was the expert in setting up paper trails on identities to make them harder to peg as fake.

  After another today’s special at the same diner, Pritchard looked for another bar to see if a different clientele would offer up other information and gossip. He certainly wasn’t going to the poolhall, considering he hadn’t played that in years. In particular, he needed to find out whose toes not
to step on without the risk of running over those toes in the process. Johnny had given a hint about the bad boys in town, but so far, they seemed a small group of brawlers who just happen to hit hard enough to be remembered. And it was only a pair of brothers and a few friends called the Daltons even though the brothers’ real surname was Dawson.

  So creative.

  If anything, looking into them gave him something to do while not finding someone who needed his kind of help.

  After a long day walking around, Pritchard returned to his room and trained. Bodyweight workout was portable, and he loved it. And the shadow boxing. He missed a heavy bag, though. He missed the feeling of the leather giving way under his strength, and the impact giving his body feedback. He thought about investing in a mat to tie around a tree when out on the open road and hit that.

  Coming out of the shower, Pritchard heard his burner phone ring. He tossed the towel on the bed and grabbed it, figuring it was Trevor with a few follow up questions or even an idea already.

  “Hello, Pricky.”

  “Hello, pussy.”

  Cat grumbled and snickered. “Still pudgy?”

  Pritchard chuckled, shaking his head. “Getting in shape. I get a lot of walking done in these small towns.”

  “Haven’t found a princess to save yet?”

  Pritchard chuckled at the title. “Nope.”

  “You sound bored. I’m calling to tell you something awesome, though.”

  “Yeah?” Pritchard could use that.

  “I just got a postcard from our princess. It’s her in trunks and gloves, looking mighty dedicated to destroying that bag,” Cat said. Pritchard grinned, happy to hear the enthusiasm in Cat’s tone. “She even says her coach says she’s got skills. But we knew that.”

  “We did.”

  “She asked me to say hello, since you don’t exactly have a forwarding address, but I’ll have a copy made of the picture and have Trevor send it to you with the next letter.”