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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime
eBook Description: Road Dawgs is a touching crime novel about parenting. Chance is an old man sent to a nursing home so that others can wait for him to die. He'll have none of that as he breaks out by stealing a doctor's Porsche. In his escape he befriends a young thief who desperately wants his daughter back. Together they kidnap her and lead the FBI on a long strange chase across an American landscape.

eBook Publisher: Quiet Storm Publishing, Published: Trade Paper, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2005

3 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.6 MB], eReader (PDB) [146 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [100 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [166 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [274 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [153 KB], hiebook (KML) [539 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [251 KB], iSilo (PDB) [90 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [199 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [186 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [213 KB]
Words: 31060
Reading time: 88-124 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 0-97585710X

"Road Dawgs is a thought provoking work, a heart rendering work and a story that will remain in your mind forever. This book is a masterpiece."--Shirley Johnson, Senior Reviewer, MidWest Book Review

"There is a lot going on in this story, but the key element at heart is the fragile bond between parent and child. This emotional topic cleverly weaves its way into the entire story and leaves you anxiously awaiting the climax. Though you do bounce from character to character, the shifts are fluid and never interrupt the book's flow. Clint Gaige is an author to watch."--Tracy Farnsworth, Roundtable Reviews

A Little Chance

His wife always said, "getting old isn't a sin, but it sure isn't convenient."

Chance spent most of that morning thinking about her and her old statements. Which reminded him of his military training. They used to say that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. Of course, that wasn't entirely true when it comes to life. Sometimes the shortest distance between life and death is a wrong turn. For some, it's a series of wrong turns.

Chance grew up in a different time and place. When he was young, the world moved at a different pace. He was one of four kids, a sister and three brothers. That was when his life was his own, before the nursemaids and what he called poppycock doctors who felt it was their duty to let him know he was an old man. That was before he came to the home.

Nursing homes are designed to shield the young from the old. If the next generation knew their destination, they'd stop being productive citizens. The GNP might suffer. Chance was sure if everyone knew unequivocally that one day he'd end up feeble with a three hundred pound, unattractive nurse wiping his nether regions, he'd choose to take a final walk with Johnny Walker and Mr. Remington. Chance planned that final walk but his daughter sold his guns to pay her electricity bill. Her deadbeat husband lost more money than he made in a poker game.

Chance's birth certificate read Roland Fritz Henning. In Africa in 1943 the best friends he would ever have, the squad of soldiers that slogged with him through Europe, dubbed him Chance. They had every right to rename him. His parents had given him life. Those old crusty bastards gave it meaning. Naming rights seemed the least he could offer them. They were in Salerno when a bullet took his helmet clean off. Bill 'Gruff' Harris said he was lucky. Ten minutes later, with his helmet in its proper place, Chance charged from his relative cover for a wad of German money that lay in clear view. They found out later it was bait for a sniper who happened to wipe his eyes when Chance grabbed the cash. Gruff corrected himself and told the squad that Roland had taken one hell of a chance. From that moment on, he was PFC Chance Henning. While on leave, they blew the money on booze. It seemed appropriate.

Growing up in the middle of nowhere West Virginia it was easy to learn to shoot a rifle. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Chance chose the 82nd Airborne Division. He wanted to be part of a unit of dedicated warriors. He trained at Camp Claiborne, Louisiana and served under the command of Omar Bradley, not yet famous. It was a noble time. Boys became men, and men learned to be warriors. It was the best time of his life. He was alive. He felt it.

Now as he struggled with arthritis and cold weather, he longed for the adrenaline-pumping feel of bullets flying by his head, or impacting the wall in front of him. Chance pictured William Tecumseh Sherman declaring war is hell while smiling from ear to ear. Chance said, "War isn't hell, failure is." War is a moment of truth for a generation of young men. When you're young and the one being shot at, you want it to end. Once you reach old age, every day is a surprise. The reason old men don't fight wars is that it would take too damn long to get the battle going.

Chance woke up that morning like all the others. He still felt, inside, like a young man. He had seen everything life had to offer but he was a babe in the woods on a grand scale. He was staring eighty-two in the eyes. Chance shook his head as his feet touched the ceramic tiles of the institution. If you took away the degeneration of his skin, he was still strong and full of surprises. Of course, no one gave him credit for that. Young people spoke louder around him. They never realized he wasn't deaf. They had nothing interesting to hear.

Imagine living under heavy gunfire watching friends die for a hedgerow. Once that is firmly implanted in your head, ask yourself how important the last insult was, or the condition of the lawn. Men like Chance never gave two shits what bosses thought of them. When you grew up in an environment of death, an environment of open-ended questions with no decisive answers leaves you in apathy.

That is what alienated Chance from those who pretended to care. If they had cared enough, they would have understood. That's how he justified his attitude. War does strange things to a man.

That's why Victor and Chance had been close. Victor was his daughter's eldest son. He understood Chance's callous nature even as an infant. Victor was the one person Chance could count on in his entire family. The cancer that attacked his little body was methodical. Victor didn't let them hamper his fight. He used to look at Grandpa Chance, smile and say, "One hedgerow at a time, huh Gamps?" By the time he was ten, the cancer had counter-attacked and overrun Victor's defenses. Chance watched him face the end with more dignity than any man he had ever known. His death forced a rift between father and daughter.

Eventually, Chance's children placed him in Stalag Lady of the Wood, an assisted living home for those afflicted with aging. It wasn't a bad place for someone waiting to die. Not bad at all, but Chance didn't choose to wait.

He set about the morning without a plan. He made sure he got his Jell-O, but other than that, his day was wide open. A few older ladies tried to interest him in a game of pinochle but he'd rather have his teeth pulled again. Chance stepped into the parking lot wearing his blue robe over the clothes he had put on himself. Despite the nurse's persistence, Chance could still dress himself.

The Doctor left his car running in the front of the home. A few moments later, his car was gone and so was Chance.