Vigilantes East finds a number
of men who have lost their daughters to pimps, drugs, slave
farms, etc., and have banded to exact their own kind of justice
The preface reads: It is happening
all across America; daughters are lost, daughters are missing,
daughters for known or unknown reasons flee the homes they
were born in, or slip away in the night, not to be seen again.
Where many of them end up is reported in newspapers and on
television every day, the matter of special issues, tragedies
that become only studies, and then statistics. They sleep
their nights away on boxes, under cardboard, in the depth
of alleys; plying on street corners or major cities with countless
others the old trade; their bodies emaciated, their minds
scrambled for good, locked away in jails and detox centers.
Others, often to their last days, are hidden away in caged
rooms in quiet houses on old farms, their bodies abused nightly
until death becomes the only welcome partner. It was happening
in the Boston area, the new constant, and the missing stayed
missing. One man's loss haunted him. The void in his life
immense, his anger harsh by controllable, he put his hand
on the hilt of the sword and pulled it from the dark rock.
All he needed were a few good men. He recruited, he organized,
he fought back. A few good men. If he ever spoke of them he'd
say The Fold, but he never spoke of them. A few good men.
Prime mover Robert Shetland still
seeks his own daughter missing for eight months. His organization
is followed through a recruiting process and a number of eliminations
of Boston's underworld element, including crooked cops, pimps,
drug distributors, etc. The recruiting process of a potential
member is stopped when one current member says, If no one
was looking, he'd go off on the ladies' tee. The eliminations
include a raid on a slave farm at an old rural farmhouse where
three men are left dead, and one girl is returned to her parents.
The local police chief, looking over the scene of fire, death
and destruction remaining from an errand of mercy and a night
of revenge, says to the night wind, "Touché, baby. I
don't know who you are, but I love your fucking style."
Harry Krisman is on the case
from the outset and gets a few leads on an organization, and
starts to narrow the noose. He believes it is a sort of vigilante
effort, knows that some politics exist in it. His boss dies,
his own vulnerability gets in the way. Though he has the ability
to use the smallest details in solving cases, the big picture
sometimes eludes him, as he has divergent interest: he loves
hockey, bird watching, and, eventually, a professor of accounting
at Bentley College. But luck and the strategy of good planning
keep the vigilantes on the loose. Harry gets close to them,
but they keep getting away. After a number of tries and spurred
by losses within the police department at the hands of the
unknowns, a single fingerprint, of a glass replacement specialist
on the lower inside of a car window, leads Harry Krisman to
Robert Shetland. Vulnerable Harry loses a foot when a thug
tries to run him down in an alley with a truck. He has to
wear prosthesis, go into the private sector.