Below is the first chapter of my 8th John Tyler thriller novel Redline. It officially releases on September 25th, and will be available to direct buyers from my store on the 20th. Links below the chapter. Enjoy.
CHAPTER 1
When he saw the same car pass in front of the jewelry shop a third time, John Tyler knew the place was about to get robbed.
It was a black GM sedan—maybe a Chevy SS or a Pontiac G8. Something with a V8 under the hood to enable a fast getaway. The car stopped at the curb just past the main door. Tyler spotted two men inside. From what he could tell, the driver looked shorter and slighter than the two passengers. Could it be a woman?
All this because he wanted to buy his daughter Lexi a nice pair of earrings for her upcoming twentieth birthday.
He thought about leaving but felt he should at least warn someone first. Tyler came to Stanley’s Jewels in Baltimore County because he remembered his late mother mentioning the place twenty-odd years ago. Two other customers browsed from among the various displays and locked cases, and a pair of employees walked the floor. A thick metal door led to the back area of the store. Tyler imagined they kept the real valuables there—most likely in a safe—and not where the public could see them. The store didn’t employ a security guard, but obvious cameras popped out of the walls and ceiling at many points. Tyler figured some less visible lenses also provided surveillance.
He made his way to the nearest worker, a thin man way too young to be the proprietor. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure you’re about to get robbed.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen the same car three times now,” Tyler said. Once could simply be someone driving by. Twice could be an accident. Someone drove past where they wanted to go. A closer parking spot opened. A third pass made a pattern not boding well for a store whose inventory stretched into the hundreds of thousands of dollars and probably beyond. “It can’t be good.”
As if on cue, one man burst through the door. He stood a shade over six feet—the measurement lines on the frame helped—and carried an average amount of weight. He also carried a Remington twelve-gauge shotgun. A dark ski mask covered his face except for the eyes, almost making a uniform when combined with blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket. Two more men, both carrying pistols, filed in a few seconds later. They were dressed similarly, and their masks were the identical off-white shade. “This is a robbery,” the first one said, making the events obvious. “Hands up. If you cooperate and stay quiet, no one has to get hurt.”
Tyler often carried a pistol. A sign on the door of Stanley’s Jewels proclaimed no firearms other than by law enforcement, which aligned with a recent and restrictive Maryland law. In cases like these, he left the 9MM in the car. At the moment, he wished he abided the law a little more loosely. Unarmed, Tyler wasn’t going to try and play hero, so he put his hands up like everyone else. One of the gunmen stood nearby, his gaze alternating between Tyler and the employee. The one with the shotgun walked to them and pointed the Remington at the worker. “Open the cases.”
The third man tossed a couple cloth bags onto one of the glass surfaces. “Don’t skimp on the good stuff, asshole. We want diamonds.”
The other employee, a middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun, cried. “Shut up,” the bag man barked at her. She managed to turn the volume down a little but continued her sobbing.
“Everyone stay calm,” the Remington wielder said, making sure to look at the customers and workers. “Keep your hands up. We don’t even want your wallets. What’s in these cases is worth a lot more.”
The two other customers were a young black woman and an older white man with thinning hair. Both held their hands aloft, though the man grimaced a few times. Sweat appeared on his face, and his breathing quickened. When the guy wobbled on his feet, Tyler stepped close and grabbed him around the torso.
“I said keep your hands up!” one of the robbers barked, waving a pistol.
“You want to steal jewelry, go ahead,” Tyler said. “If this guy dies . . . even from something like a heart attack . . . it’s going to go down like you murdered him.”
“You a doctor?”
“No. Just someone who’s seen a truckload of people react to stress over the years.” The older man continued taking shallow breaths, and his face looked ashen. Tyler felt on the guy’s neck for a pulse. Rapid but weak. “We need to get him on the floor.”
“Stay there,” the masked man ordered.
“The hell is going on?” Remington demanded as he approached. The third gunman moved from his post near the door to badger the other employee into filling the bags faster.
“This man is probably experiencing some kind of cardiac issue,” Tyler said. “I’d like to get him off the floor.” He jutted his chin toward the door. “Maybe back there. We need to get him lying flat.” Thanks to an abundance of displays, floor space in the small interior of Stanley’s Jewels was at a premium. There was room to get the old man onto the carpet, but he’d still be in the middle of everything. Removing him from the stressful environment would help.
“This is bullshit,” the pistol-wielding bandit said. “You just want to run out the back.”
So there was a back door, and this crew knew about it. “Even if I did, who cares?” Tyler said. “I don’t have the Hope Diamond in my pocket.”
The volatile one started to say something, but the guy with the shotgun—and the cooler head—talked over him. “We don’t need someone dying while we’re here. Get him to the back. You’re carrying him, though. Or dragging him. Whatever.”
“Fine.” Tyler kept the victim upright but moved behind him to wrap his arms around the man’s chest. Other than an occasional groan, the guy seemed out on his feet, so Tyler needed to provide all the force. Thankfully, the poor fellow was pretty slender and not too tough to drag behind a row of display cases and toward the metal door. “Is it open?”
The weeping woman nodded. Tyler braced himself against the frame and kept his right arm around the old man’s torso. He reached back with his left hand, found the knob, turned it, and opened the door. It closed behind itself once he dragged the guy through. Lights flickered to life, illuminating a hallway. A door at the end led to the outside. A break room was on the left, and an office on the right.
Tyler got the elderly gentleman into the break room and set him down on the floor. The guy still had a pulse, but his color remained poor, and Tyler didn’t think he’d survive a lot longer without paramedics or an AED. He stood and headed back into the corridor.
The office was occupied.
Redline is copyright (c) 2025 by Tom Fowler. All rights reserved.
Recent Comments