Chapter 50
word count: 610
Frank took the last bite of fritatta and laid down his fork and knife with care. He snapped the clean linen napkin out of his collar and waved his hand for Luigi. The harried chef rushed in from the kitchen.
“Get me Tony.”
“Yes, Uncle Frank.”
Luigi rushed to a phone on the kitchen wall. It didn't take long for Tony to arrive. Frank's “staff” were generally on the premises, cocooned in its terse corridors and closet-like enclosures.
“Uncle Frank?” The grim fellow stood, waiting for a nod of Frank's head to indicate he should sit. The nod didn't come.
“Tony. I want you to take them out—Bud Kramer and that imbecile, Ren. And find DiMarco and that whore—get rid of them, too. Take as many men as you need.”
“Yes, sir, Uncle Frank.”
“Now get outta here!”
As his minion made tracks, Frank leaned back and enjoyed his cup of steaming coffee. Ah, peace at last...
Bud burst through the door of McDonald's with Jorge in tow, his eagle-like eyes scanning the room before he was all the way through. The place was empty except for a couple seated by the window. The man's back was to them, but the hair was DiMarco's coal black. The girl was no prize, but Bud had no idea what the whore was supposed to look like.
He turned and grabbed Jorge by the collar and hissed in his ear. “Is that your buddy?”
“I don't know...could be. I can't see his face.”
“Well, let's find out, shall we?” Bud rushed up and spun the man around, then flinched. The man wasn't Vic.
“What the fuck you doing?” the guy screamed, pulling himself free of the man's grasp.
Bud pulled back in horror. What was he doing? Accosting innocent people, bullying them. What was happening to him? His intensity about Janie was making him a crazy bastard. He had to get a grip.
“Look man, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Get away from me, you son of a bitch!”
Bud grabbed Jorge and dragged him out of the restaurant. He felt the anger broiling in his chest again. He pulled Jorge close. “Are you bull-shitting me or was he really supposed to be in there?”
“That's what he told me! I wouldn't shit you, man!”
“Yeah, right!” Bud leaned against the building in exhaustion. What next? His eyes rested on the boulevard out front. He bolted up. A black Cadillac was cruising toward the red light. “That's Uncle Frank's thugs! I'd know that car anywhere!”
“So what! I don't want anything to do with them!”
Bud grabbed Jorge and shoved him in his car. “Yes, you do. We're following them. I'm not taking my eyes off you, so you're coming with me.”
The Cadillac wove through city streets with ease. It never missed a green light and flew just above the speed limit getting from point A to point B with style and grace. Bud was hard put to keep up. He was surprised when the car turned onto a desolate bridge on the edge of town and stopped. A fast-moving river flowed beneath it. Bud knew full well what would happen next.
Two men got out of the car and opened the trunk, lifting a large dark bundle out and with a heave-ho hoisted it up and over the railing. The Cadillac sped away before the waters calmed.
“Looked like we're going to have to get a crew down here to fish that up and see who Uncle Frank has bumped off now,” Bud murmured, reaching for his cell. “Poor soul!”
Thursday, December 27, 2007
chapter forty nine
chain fiction chapter 49
word count: 523
frank malleo replaced the receiver.. this was a mess.. a fucking mess.. how the hell did all of this happen as a result of one dead junkie?? sure he was his brother wally's kid,, god rest his soul... but he was a filthy piece of drug addict shit,, and truth be told frank had wanted to kill the little son of a bitch on more than one occasion himself...
"i shoulda' just wacked the little mother fucker years ago... none of this would have happened...." frank allowed himself to dream for just a moment...
something had to be done.. something to put an end to all of this now.. once and for all.. over.. out of sight out of mind... that was it... bud and ren and di marco and that fucking whore,,, gone.. all of them.. the end.. put this whole thing to bed,, "and then," frank thought to himself as he surveyed the deep circles that were forming around his already sunken dark eyes,, "then i can get some rest...."
the call had been placed.. one small matter of business remained unfinished here,, and then he would have a nice breakfast.. food had always made him feel better.. he had his mama to thank for that....
as frank strode thru the kitchen,, he told luigi he was feeling especially down today,, "a nice frittata might be just the thing.. oh and a side of hot cakes,, yeah,, that ought to do it...." said frank with his forever embracing warm smile,, and that spark in his eye,, that let luigi know,, whatever had the don down,, he was no part of it...
with relief and a feeling of reinforced security,, luigi opened the large side by side,, and surveyed the contents.. this would have to be the frittata to beat all frittata's.. luigi would personally see to it that it was...
frank continued on thru the maze of hallways in the back of the building,, hallways that were specifically designed years ago,, to more often than not,, go no where.. hallways that had on more than one occasion meant the difference between freedom and captivity to frank himself,, and life and death for many others..
he finally stopped in front of a pair of metal doors,, no handle,, no push bar,, just doors.. he removed a brick to the right of the doors,, slipped a key off his vast ring in the slot, and watched as the doors disengaged.
he kicked the door noisily out in front of himself,, as if to surprise anyone that might be laying in wait on the other side..
no one was there... no one accept a useless scrap of a man,,there on the floor... still hog tied,, still blindfolded,, laying shivering in a pool of his own piss...
frank slipped the silenced 38 out of the rear waist band of his dark brown silk pants, and fired five shots.. he stepped back,, swung the door closed, replaced his revolver,, and proceeded to the kitchen to see how luigi was progressing on his breakfast...
a nice frittata sounded like just what he needed....
word count: 523
frank malleo replaced the receiver.. this was a mess.. a fucking mess.. how the hell did all of this happen as a result of one dead junkie?? sure he was his brother wally's kid,, god rest his soul... but he was a filthy piece of drug addict shit,, and truth be told frank had wanted to kill the little son of a bitch on more than one occasion himself...
"i shoulda' just wacked the little mother fucker years ago... none of this would have happened...." frank allowed himself to dream for just a moment...
something had to be done.. something to put an end to all of this now.. once and for all.. over.. out of sight out of mind... that was it... bud and ren and di marco and that fucking whore,,, gone.. all of them.. the end.. put this whole thing to bed,, "and then," frank thought to himself as he surveyed the deep circles that were forming around his already sunken dark eyes,, "then i can get some rest...."
the call had been placed.. one small matter of business remained unfinished here,, and then he would have a nice breakfast.. food had always made him feel better.. he had his mama to thank for that....
as frank strode thru the kitchen,, he told luigi he was feeling especially down today,, "a nice frittata might be just the thing.. oh and a side of hot cakes,, yeah,, that ought to do it...." said frank with his forever embracing warm smile,, and that spark in his eye,, that let luigi know,, whatever had the don down,, he was no part of it...
with relief and a feeling of reinforced security,, luigi opened the large side by side,, and surveyed the contents.. this would have to be the frittata to beat all frittata's.. luigi would personally see to it that it was...
frank continued on thru the maze of hallways in the back of the building,, hallways that were specifically designed years ago,, to more often than not,, go no where.. hallways that had on more than one occasion meant the difference between freedom and captivity to frank himself,, and life and death for many others..
he finally stopped in front of a pair of metal doors,, no handle,, no push bar,, just doors.. he removed a brick to the right of the doors,, slipped a key off his vast ring in the slot, and watched as the doors disengaged.
he kicked the door noisily out in front of himself,, as if to surprise anyone that might be laying in wait on the other side..
no one was there... no one accept a useless scrap of a man,,there on the floor... still hog tied,, still blindfolded,, laying shivering in a pool of his own piss...
frank slipped the silenced 38 out of the rear waist band of his dark brown silk pants, and fired five shots.. he stepped back,, swung the door closed, replaced his revolver,, and proceeded to the kitchen to see how luigi was progressing on his breakfast...
a nice frittata sounded like just what he needed....
Saturday, December 15, 2007
chapter forty eight
word count: 550
"Look at me! You've got to be kidding!" They stood outside Macy's window, gazing at their reflections. Jessa clenched her fists and stood rigid, glaring, ready to explode. Her hair, flattened and combed down straight went perfectly with the "sunday-go-to-meetin'" pants suit which boasted a silk blouse with a matching scarf tied in the front and, of course, 'practical' shoes. Tiny eyeglasses perched on her nose in a blatant aura of intellectuality.
"You'd better rip that jewelry off your fingers...and those fake nails, too."
"No freakin' way!"
Do you want them to find us and kill us? That get-up is a dead giveaway that something's up." He tilted his Fedora and buttoned his top button, next straightening his plain blue tie.
"We look like Lois Lane and Clark Kent from those old TV shows."
"That's better than looking like who we really are. We'll blend into the office crowd downtown here. Now I just have to figure out what to do next. I want to get the fuck out of town."
Jessa surveyed the secretaries and desk clerks milling all around. They did fit in. "Why don't we catch an Amtrak or a bus?"
"I thought we might, but that's so easy to stop and search. I got another idea." With that remark, he turned on his heel and waved for a taxi. A rattling yellow cab pulled up.
"You on the clock? I need to go about 50 miles. Can you handle it?"
"Sure. Hop in."
As they settled in the back, the driver asked, "Where to?"
"I'm not really sure. Just head north." He leaned forward and handed the guy a wad of bills. "As far as this takes us."
The cabbie grabbed the money with a big smile. "No problem."
Jessa leaned close and whispered in Vic's ear. "What the hell we going north for? Why not south? I mean, who goes north, for Gawd's sake?"
Vic smiled back, a cocky grin. "Exactly, 'who goes north?'--you get it? They'll never think we'd go north either."
He relaxed. It felt good to be off the street where they might be spotted. Ever since he called Jorge from the restaurant, he had an uneasy feeling. Not that he didn't trust Jorge, but hey, these were desperate times. Anything could happen.
The whore leaned closer. He could feel her body heat blending with his, streaming along his thigh. Her hand tickled between his legs. The wench, teasing him. He could feel his body reacting... hardening, aching to be satiated. If he could close off the front of the cab and have the back seat free from view, he'd push her down on him and get relief. Oh fuck...he needed to do that... his breath caught in his throat. The sensations emanating from his groin were beginning to overpower...there's be no denying "little Vic" soon...
He bolted up! Outside...the cab was passing McDonald's where he and Jessa had been earlier. Walking through the front door was Jorge, and he wasn't alone. Bud Kramer sprinted by his side.
Vic ducked low in the seat, pulling Jessa down with him. The two men didn't see him. They were through the door before the cab got close. "Get this buggy moving, dammit!" he told the driver. "I want out of town fast!"
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
chapter forty seven
word count: 830
bud pointed ren in the direction of the lazy boy and the remote,, as he made a pot of coffee,, and dissolved four of janeys sleeping tablets in the light sweet cup he fixed for ren...
while ren enjoyed his coffee and a little channel surfing,, bud showered,, redressed and perfected his time line....
as he entered the living room,, ren was in the fully reclined position sleeping like a baby... bud checked the cup,, he had drained it... thank god...
bud set the timer on his watch for five hours,, as he set off out the door.. he figured he had five hours in which he had to locate jorge,, locate vic,, and get back here before ren awoke...
bud returned to the prison. he "re-interviewed" martinez. getting jorge's contact information with out too much difficulty in light of the fact that he had advised martinez,, just in case he was reluctant to cooperate,, that they were prepared to charge him with "accessory to murders, plural. three of them so far,, and the longer you hold off,, the longer the list will become"...
staring at three life sentences or a minimum 75 years inside,, getting martinez to spill his cousins address and cell number was as easy as getting ren to have just one more donut....
he was not even out of the parking lot of the prison before he had jorge on the phone... he told him some bullshit about vic being on the move,, and needing him to meet him at the pay phone in the parking lot of the seven eleven on 34th and clark.. he ended the call with "and vic said, don't fuck this up like you did the fucking bucket thing,, whatever that means... he said you would understand....." and abruptly snapped his cell closed....
bud parked in the liquor store parking lot across the street from the seven eleven.. he wasn't there more than a few minutes when he saw a beat up old white pick up pull up in front of the pay phone...
as jorge sat obediently in the truck and waited for vic to arrive,, bud crossed the street and sauntered toward the truck.. he walked toward the pay phone,, digging in his pocket like he was trying to rustle up some change. he approached the passengers side door,, saying something to jorge about "having change for a dollar.." when jorge looked up,, bud stuck his 45 thru the window of the truck, and yelled "freeze!!"
"chinga madre..." was all jorge could say,, as bud explained to him that he had every intention of blowing his fucking brains out if he did not take him to vic dimarco... now....
jorge,, having no desire to die protecting a cheap piece of shit like vic di marco,, took bud right to the hotel room.. bud accompanied him to the door,, and they knocked.. nothing..
"you better not be playing with me motherfucker ,, i am telling you i am in no mood to play..." bud snapped at jorge,, the 45 in his ribcage emphasizing the point...
"no ,, man i am telling you,, i fucking dropped him off here,, him and that whore,, the one with the cuffs.. i am telling you ,, they were here... " jorge pleaded,, knowing bud didn't believe him,, the one time in his life he was telling the fucking truth....
bud jimmied the window free and knocked the screen to the floor,, he pulled back the curtain.. the room was empty... but,, as nearly as he could tell,, jorge had been telling the truth,, amongst the discarded beer cans bud saw a pair of bolt cutters laying on the foot of the bed,, and some severed handcuffs on the counter near the bathroom sink... fuck..
"get back in the truck..." he said as he nudged jorge in the direction of the stairs....
three hours and fifteen minutes to go.... bud sat silent for a moment,, his thoughts consumed with his janey... what the fuck was his next move?? he had been so sure,, so positive that he could pull this off,, that he could get to di marco,, and back to ren and pull this whole thing together... his thoughts were jarred by the unfamiliar ringing of a cell phone,, jorge's cell phone...
"answer it!" bud directed as he stuck the gun under jorges jaw,, and pressed it in for good measure.....
"diga mi"
"vic!!" jorge exclaimed loudly as a bit of the color returned to his face... he pointed to the phone,, signaling bud that it was vic on the phone...
"macdonalds?? which one?? no problemo mi amigo,, estoy viniendo,, i'm coming, i am on my way..... " he exhaled for what felt like the first time since he had met bud and his side kick, 45....
they drove toward the macdonalds at which they had been instructed to pick up vic fucking di marco and his whore,, in silence,, each of them was privately thanking god for small favors.....
bud pointed ren in the direction of the lazy boy and the remote,, as he made a pot of coffee,, and dissolved four of janeys sleeping tablets in the light sweet cup he fixed for ren...
while ren enjoyed his coffee and a little channel surfing,, bud showered,, redressed and perfected his time line....
as he entered the living room,, ren was in the fully reclined position sleeping like a baby... bud checked the cup,, he had drained it... thank god...
bud set the timer on his watch for five hours,, as he set off out the door.. he figured he had five hours in which he had to locate jorge,, locate vic,, and get back here before ren awoke...
bud returned to the prison. he "re-interviewed" martinez. getting jorge's contact information with out too much difficulty in light of the fact that he had advised martinez,, just in case he was reluctant to cooperate,, that they were prepared to charge him with "accessory to murders, plural. three of them so far,, and the longer you hold off,, the longer the list will become"...
staring at three life sentences or a minimum 75 years inside,, getting martinez to spill his cousins address and cell number was as easy as getting ren to have just one more donut....
he was not even out of the parking lot of the prison before he had jorge on the phone... he told him some bullshit about vic being on the move,, and needing him to meet him at the pay phone in the parking lot of the seven eleven on 34th and clark.. he ended the call with "and vic said, don't fuck this up like you did the fucking bucket thing,, whatever that means... he said you would understand....." and abruptly snapped his cell closed....
bud parked in the liquor store parking lot across the street from the seven eleven.. he wasn't there more than a few minutes when he saw a beat up old white pick up pull up in front of the pay phone...
as jorge sat obediently in the truck and waited for vic to arrive,, bud crossed the street and sauntered toward the truck.. he walked toward the pay phone,, digging in his pocket like he was trying to rustle up some change. he approached the passengers side door,, saying something to jorge about "having change for a dollar.." when jorge looked up,, bud stuck his 45 thru the window of the truck, and yelled "freeze!!"
"chinga madre..." was all jorge could say,, as bud explained to him that he had every intention of blowing his fucking brains out if he did not take him to vic dimarco... now....
jorge,, having no desire to die protecting a cheap piece of shit like vic di marco,, took bud right to the hotel room.. bud accompanied him to the door,, and they knocked.. nothing..
"you better not be playing with me motherfucker ,, i am telling you i am in no mood to play..." bud snapped at jorge,, the 45 in his ribcage emphasizing the point...
"no ,, man i am telling you,, i fucking dropped him off here,, him and that whore,, the one with the cuffs.. i am telling you ,, they were here... " jorge pleaded,, knowing bud didn't believe him,, the one time in his life he was telling the fucking truth....
bud jimmied the window free and knocked the screen to the floor,, he pulled back the curtain.. the room was empty... but,, as nearly as he could tell,, jorge had been telling the truth,, amongst the discarded beer cans bud saw a pair of bolt cutters laying on the foot of the bed,, and some severed handcuffs on the counter near the bathroom sink... fuck..
"get back in the truck..." he said as he nudged jorge in the direction of the stairs....
three hours and fifteen minutes to go.... bud sat silent for a moment,, his thoughts consumed with his janey... what the fuck was his next move?? he had been so sure,, so positive that he could pull this off,, that he could get to di marco,, and back to ren and pull this whole thing together... his thoughts were jarred by the unfamiliar ringing of a cell phone,, jorge's cell phone...
"answer it!" bud directed as he stuck the gun under jorges jaw,, and pressed it in for good measure.....
"diga mi"
"vic!!" jorge exclaimed loudly as a bit of the color returned to his face... he pointed to the phone,, signaling bud that it was vic on the phone...
"macdonalds?? which one?? no problemo mi amigo,, estoy viniendo,, i'm coming, i am on my way..... " he exhaled for what felt like the first time since he had met bud and his side kick, 45....
they drove toward the macdonalds at which they had been instructed to pick up vic fucking di marco and his whore,, in silence,, each of them was privately thanking god for small favors.....
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Chapter forty six
word count: 847
"We gotta get outta here," Vic muttered under his breath. The last thing he wanted was Uncle Frank's thugs to realize he saw them load a body into their car. Hell, he'd be the next cadaver they took for a ride.
"I'm still hungry," the whore said, standing next to him. They were calm words, but a glance her way showed she was trembling as much as he.
"Right, let's go."
The warmly lit McDonald's was a great relief. They pushed other patrons aside to get in, in to safety, away from the carnage they'd seen a few blocks away.
The teenage clerk eyed them warily. "CanITakeYourOrder?"...It all came out a like a rumbling freight train. He tapped his fingers on the counter and glanced away.
"What do you want?" Vic asked.
"Pancakes and sausage." Her voice chirped it out like a happy five-year old.
"Make it two...and coffee, lots of coffee."
When they settled at a table, the girl grabbed her food like an animal, fumbling for the plastic fork, tearing open the container.
"I guess your mother never taught you table manners." He opened his utensil packet calmly and spread the napkin on his lap.
She looked up from her syrup-deluged pancake stack, fork in hand, stating, "Don't talk about my mother."
"Sensitive issue, I see."
She glared back. "Did it ever occur to you I'm a person, not just some whore you can force to go down on you whenever you like. I got a family and stuff just like you. I'm a person!"
"Okay. Okay!" Other people were staring. He could feel their eyes cutting into his skin. Their conversation, louder than it should be, didn't help either. He started his stack of pancakes. In his annoyed state, they slid down his throat like cotton balls, sticking along the way.
His eyes rested on her skinny fingers, clutching the fork in a fist like a farmer's wife. Except unlike a farmer's wife, her fingers and thumbs were riddled with cheap rings and her long fake nails boasted a ghastly shade of black. Her bare arms were so skinny, it was hard to believe a living person possessed them. The last time he'd seen arms that thin was his Aunt Frieda days before she succumbed to cancer.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing...nothing." He studied her face, so thin, etched at the moment with lines of outrage. With her dark hair spiking out all around, she looked like a scarecrow. He ran his eyes down to her breasts, held captive in a tight shell which hardly diminished their significant size. It looked like balloons stuffed in there. No wonder people were staring at them.
"Quit looking at me. Dammit!" She returned to her meal, eating slower now that her initial hunger had been sated. As she savored each bite, her expression took on a childlike innocence.
"I didn't mean to stare. I'm sorry."
"Well, I'd appreciate you treating me better. I'm just saying, I deserve better."
"You're a whore!"
"Well. I'm a person, too! Why don't you call me by my name once in a while, instead of 'Hey you' or something?"
People were staring again. His brain was muddled. "What is your name anyway?"
"Jessa! Dammit, my name is Jessa!"
"Okay...Jessa." His eyes traveled to the entrance. He was always on the lookout. When you had as many dirty deals going down as he did, you kept your eyes open. Two big men came through the door. Vic's heart slammed to the floor. "Get down!" he said, grabbing Jessa's wrist to squeeze his point home. He motioned she should duck under the table. They met there, bumping heads.
"What the hell is it?"
"Uncle Frank's men. The ones we saw. They know me. Can't let them see me."
"Oh shit! From the fucking frying pan to the fire."
"Stay still." He peeked up, scanned the restaurant. Bending back down, he whispered, "I don't see them. Let's run for it."
"What about my breakfast?"
"Bring it with you! I don't care. Let's go!"
They scurried like mice, out the front door and off to the nearest alley, stopping to catch their breaths, leaning against a wall.
"Good! I think we made it," Vic said.
"Can I finish eating now?" Jessa had her plate of pancakes. She lifted one with her bare fingers and stuffed it in her mouth.
Vic was busy thinking and didn't notice. "You know what?" he said. We need to change our appearance. We're gonna get caught if we don't do something. He paused to look at her. "I think you need some different clothes, maybe a ladies' suit, some old lady shoes, flatten your hair down, maybe some fake glasses, perhaps a 'librarian'-look."
"Old lady shoes? No way! What the hell are you talking about?"
"We're going to Macy's and get some clothes so we blend in. No matter how far we travel, they're gonna find us if we look like this. And if they find us, we're dead meat. Now come on, let's go."
Friday, December 7, 2007
chapter forty five
word count: 694
sated now,, ren eased back in his chair and emitted a contented belch..."so,, you want i should call down for the other one?? whats his name?? martinez??"
"what i want,, is for you to call your uncle frank and check on janey.." bud barked at ren,, doing his best to filter out the disgust in his voice...
"not a problem..." ren retorted as he withdrew his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and popped a single digit speed dial number...
bud was playing out every possible scenario for getting himself free of ren.. killing him now,, was out of the question.. loosing him equally as bad an option,, either way would have capos crawling out of the woodwork,, and put janey's life in the ultimate danger...
"hey... is my uncle frank around??" ren spoke somberly into the phone. he knew this was killing bud,, and had he had his druthers,, he would not have put him through this... but it was out of his hands.. like so many things in this life.. just out of his hands....
as ren waited obediently for audience on the phone,, bud arrived at what he deduced to be the only way to separate himself from ren,, and do it in such a way that neither ren nor his family of dago slime balls would be any the wiser...
sleep had become an unnatural act for janey over the course of her progressive illness. though they never really talked about it,, bud knew she had been addicted to a variety of sleeping pills over the years. he had turned a blind eye.. he had wanted her to be comfortable,, to be happy,, as happy as she could be living her lonely solitary life in a chair...
he knew her tolerance to the sleeping pills was outrageous,, it was not unheard of for her to take them four or five at a time,, in order to just be able to fall asleep... and that was never a guarantee she would stay there...
he also knew the last few times he had picked up her prescriptions for her, she had been prescribed flunitrazepam, rohypnol, on the street they called them "roofies" or the "date rape drug"... one of the most potent benzodiazepine on the market...
"uncle frank, how ya doin'??" ren spoke as if he was making a social call... there was a period of silence,, as he listened intently,, ren stood and walked toward the vending machine.. he struggled his hand into his pocket and withdrew a hand full of change as he spoke,, "yeah,, thats why i'm calling... " he fiddled two quarters out of the mess and managed to slip them in the slot on the machine... " yeah,, yeah,, i gottcha... hey,, you got it..." he said as he snapped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket...
if bud could just get a couple of the roofies down ren,, it would buy some time,,, time in which he could get an exact address on martinez cousin,, jorge,, and pay him a little visit,, without anyone in the yacovella family even knowing what was going on... it was a shot in the dark,, but the only shot he had right now.. he had to take it... janey's life was on the line....
ren searched the glass plated vending machine for a moment,, before he said, "fuck it" clicked on the coin return and retrieved his money...
"nothing to report on that end... everything is fine.. uncle frank says to tell you not to worry,, they wouldn't do anything to hurt her..." he knew how unconvincing he sounded,, but that was the best he could do.. he was breathless,, he knew if bud found out what uncle frank had really said,, he was a dead man...
"i gotta get the hell outta here.. i need a fuckin' shower and a change of clothes,, and a good cup of coffee.. i cant fucking think anymore..." bud said as he stood and walked toward the door,, he wasn't giving ren any chance to oppose him,, he either followed him or got left behind,, and he knew he couldn't afford to be left behind...
sated now,, ren eased back in his chair and emitted a contented belch..."so,, you want i should call down for the other one?? whats his name?? martinez??"
"what i want,, is for you to call your uncle frank and check on janey.." bud barked at ren,, doing his best to filter out the disgust in his voice...
"not a problem..." ren retorted as he withdrew his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and popped a single digit speed dial number...
bud was playing out every possible scenario for getting himself free of ren.. killing him now,, was out of the question.. loosing him equally as bad an option,, either way would have capos crawling out of the woodwork,, and put janey's life in the ultimate danger...
"hey... is my uncle frank around??" ren spoke somberly into the phone. he knew this was killing bud,, and had he had his druthers,, he would not have put him through this... but it was out of his hands.. like so many things in this life.. just out of his hands....
as ren waited obediently for audience on the phone,, bud arrived at what he deduced to be the only way to separate himself from ren,, and do it in such a way that neither ren nor his family of dago slime balls would be any the wiser...
sleep had become an unnatural act for janey over the course of her progressive illness. though they never really talked about it,, bud knew she had been addicted to a variety of sleeping pills over the years. he had turned a blind eye.. he had wanted her to be comfortable,, to be happy,, as happy as she could be living her lonely solitary life in a chair...
he knew her tolerance to the sleeping pills was outrageous,, it was not unheard of for her to take them four or five at a time,, in order to just be able to fall asleep... and that was never a guarantee she would stay there...
he also knew the last few times he had picked up her prescriptions for her, she had been prescribed flunitrazepam, rohypnol, on the street they called them "roofies" or the "date rape drug"... one of the most potent benzodiazepine on the market...
"uncle frank, how ya doin'??" ren spoke as if he was making a social call... there was a period of silence,, as he listened intently,, ren stood and walked toward the vending machine.. he struggled his hand into his pocket and withdrew a hand full of change as he spoke,, "yeah,, thats why i'm calling... " he fiddled two quarters out of the mess and managed to slip them in the slot on the machine... " yeah,, yeah,, i gottcha... hey,, you got it..." he said as he snapped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket...
if bud could just get a couple of the roofies down ren,, it would buy some time,,, time in which he could get an exact address on martinez cousin,, jorge,, and pay him a little visit,, without anyone in the yacovella family even knowing what was going on... it was a shot in the dark,, but the only shot he had right now.. he had to take it... janey's life was on the line....
ren searched the glass plated vending machine for a moment,, before he said, "fuck it" clicked on the coin return and retrieved his money...
"nothing to report on that end... everything is fine.. uncle frank says to tell you not to worry,, they wouldn't do anything to hurt her..." he knew how unconvincing he sounded,, but that was the best he could do.. he was breathless,, he knew if bud found out what uncle frank had really said,, he was a dead man...
"i gotta get the hell outta here.. i need a fuckin' shower and a change of clothes,, and a good cup of coffee.. i cant fucking think anymore..." bud said as he stood and walked toward the door,, he wasn't giving ren any chance to oppose him,, he either followed him or got left behind,, and he knew he couldn't afford to be left behind...
chapter forty four
word count: 732
Vic felt calmer now. The girl had finished, at gunpoint, what he needed her to do. Still gasping for breath, he kicked her away from his crouch, sending the handcuffed whore rolling into the corner. His hand grasping the gun hug low and useless only for a second. Even in the midst of orgasm, he knew to keep his guard up. This bitch was tricky.
"Now I can think," he sputtered in between breaths that came like volcanic eruptions, only in reverse.
"What the fuck did you kick me away for?" the girl whined, crawling back as best she could manage. Her eyes were always on the gun, even now, as she struggled to keep from toppling over, her balance totally off because of the cuffs.
"I'll tell you what, I got a lot on my mind, so shut up, okay. I don't want to have to gag you." He struggled to zip his trousers with one available hand, while the other still clutched the weapon. "I'm worried about Jorge. Everyone knows following him is likely to lead to me."
"So what?"
"So what? I got a feeling a lot of people would like to get their hands on me. You do realize I've been strong-arming the mafia, don't you? And that Kramer guy, he's always out there snooping around."
"No skin off of my nose."
"You think not? You think they won't take out a two-bit whore just for a little target practice? We gotta dump Jorge and get out of here."
"Let me go. You don't need me."
"I'm not leaving you behind to squeal all about me to anyone who asks. I'm keeping an eye on you."
The whore didn't respond. She sat close, her eyes staring back like tiny black dots. Her hands trembled. She looked away to hide her vulnerability. The bitch needed a fix. Couldn't deal with that now. "You know," he said, "you'd be smarter to work with me rather than against me. Let's face it, we're in the same puddle of shit. We should be helping each other instead of fighting." He reached over and lifted her face up to look her in the eyes. "What do you say? Will you work with me a little here?"
For what it was worth, she nodded.
"Okay, we're out of here. Jorge has gone for a while. If we leave now, he'll never know what happened." He helped her up and creaked open the door. All clear. "I'm taking the cuffs off you, but I've still got a gun. Remember, we need to stick together, you got it?"
She nodded. He could only hope for the best, but he'd kill her to keep her quiet if she bolted, and she knew that. She had to know that. He was crazy, surely she realized he was insane, right?
It was a new day outside. The sun was just rising, casting a soft orange glow over the busy city, bouncing off skyscrapers, softening their importance. Hard to believe they could be in so much shit on such a gentle morning. Oh well, grab a sniff of the good life when you can.
"Look, we're going on foot. A car is too hard to trace. Maybe a bus or train, I dunno."
"Where?"
"I dunno. Let's just head for the train station."
"I'm hungry."
"Huh?"
"We haven't eaten since yesterday. I'm hungry."
"Okay, okay. Maybe some fast food. Gotta be careful not to show our faces around, you know." Truth be told, he was hungry, too. He was always hungry after sex, and the whore's blow job had made him ravenous. They walked quickly toward a McDonald's at the edge of town, side-stepping the usual junkies littering the sidewalk. As they neared Malleo's, Vic grabbed the whore.
"Look, I don't want to walk past the front door. That damn place is Mafia-Central. Let's cut through the alley."
Even by morning's light, Malleo's aromas filled their nostrils as they slid between buildings to the alley. When they arrived, he pulled the whore back with an abrupt motion. Malleo's loading dock was a busy place today. A Cadillac was parked, trunk open, and two busboys were loading a huge plastic bag into it.
Vic shuddered, startling the girl. "What's wrong?" she whispered.
Vic shook his head in horror. "That's a body. They're loading a body into the trunk!"
Vic felt calmer now. The girl had finished, at gunpoint, what he needed her to do. Still gasping for breath, he kicked her away from his crouch, sending the handcuffed whore rolling into the corner. His hand grasping the gun hug low and useless only for a second. Even in the midst of orgasm, he knew to keep his guard up. This bitch was tricky.
"Now I can think," he sputtered in between breaths that came like volcanic eruptions, only in reverse.
"What the fuck did you kick me away for?" the girl whined, crawling back as best she could manage. Her eyes were always on the gun, even now, as she struggled to keep from toppling over, her balance totally off because of the cuffs.
"I'll tell you what, I got a lot on my mind, so shut up, okay. I don't want to have to gag you." He struggled to zip his trousers with one available hand, while the other still clutched the weapon. "I'm worried about Jorge. Everyone knows following him is likely to lead to me."
"So what?"
"So what? I got a feeling a lot of people would like to get their hands on me. You do realize I've been strong-arming the mafia, don't you? And that Kramer guy, he's always out there snooping around."
"No skin off of my nose."
"You think not? You think they won't take out a two-bit whore just for a little target practice? We gotta dump Jorge and get out of here."
"Let me go. You don't need me."
"I'm not leaving you behind to squeal all about me to anyone who asks. I'm keeping an eye on you."
The whore didn't respond. She sat close, her eyes staring back like tiny black dots. Her hands trembled. She looked away to hide her vulnerability. The bitch needed a fix. Couldn't deal with that now. "You know," he said, "you'd be smarter to work with me rather than against me. Let's face it, we're in the same puddle of shit. We should be helping each other instead of fighting." He reached over and lifted her face up to look her in the eyes. "What do you say? Will you work with me a little here?"
For what it was worth, she nodded.
"Okay, we're out of here. Jorge has gone for a while. If we leave now, he'll never know what happened." He helped her up and creaked open the door. All clear. "I'm taking the cuffs off you, but I've still got a gun. Remember, we need to stick together, you got it?"
She nodded. He could only hope for the best, but he'd kill her to keep her quiet if she bolted, and she knew that. She had to know that. He was crazy, surely she realized he was insane, right?
It was a new day outside. The sun was just rising, casting a soft orange glow over the busy city, bouncing off skyscrapers, softening their importance. Hard to believe they could be in so much shit on such a gentle morning. Oh well, grab a sniff of the good life when you can.
"Look, we're going on foot. A car is too hard to trace. Maybe a bus or train, I dunno."
"Where?"
"I dunno. Let's just head for the train station."
"I'm hungry."
"Huh?"
"We haven't eaten since yesterday. I'm hungry."
"Okay, okay. Maybe some fast food. Gotta be careful not to show our faces around, you know." Truth be told, he was hungry, too. He was always hungry after sex, and the whore's blow job had made him ravenous. They walked quickly toward a McDonald's at the edge of town, side-stepping the usual junkies littering the sidewalk. As they neared Malleo's, Vic grabbed the whore.
"Look, I don't want to walk past the front door. That damn place is Mafia-Central. Let's cut through the alley."
Even by morning's light, Malleo's aromas filled their nostrils as they slid between buildings to the alley. When they arrived, he pulled the whore back with an abrupt motion. Malleo's loading dock was a busy place today. A Cadillac was parked, trunk open, and two busboys were loading a huge plastic bag into it.
Vic shuddered, startling the girl. "What's wrong?" she whispered.
Vic shook his head in horror. "That's a body. They're loading a body into the trunk!"
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
chapter forty three
word count: 599
"focus,, focus,, you will never get anywhere swirling around in your own dust,," bud chanted to himself silently, in the dimly lighted recesses of his overloaded, aching brain...
he forced himself to focus on the interview...
"you are so full of shit... you might as well save it though,,, i don't know nothing,, so it isn't going to do you any good to be making up horror stories to get me to spill something i don't know..." jason seethed,, looking straight into buds worn,, bloodshot eyes...
even as the words escaped his lips,, he could tell bud wasn't making all of this up... he could tell bud had not the energy to make any of this up.. something was wrong,, something was different.... a cold chill ran the length of his spine,, as he waited in silence for bud to say something... 15 seconds... 30 seconds,, 45 seconds...
"come the fuck on man... what the hell is going on here??? who could possibly even know i know jessa??" he paused,, "except the fucking screws that let her in here.. damn it,, damn it,," he stood and started pacing wringing his hands looking around wildly.. "its them isn't it?? those fuckers... i told martinez not to get involved with those fuckers... i told him it would be drama.. god damn it.. "
"keep doing exactly what you are doing,, don't look at me,, but listen.. act like i am not saying what i am about to say... it is our only chance, alexander,, yours and mine.. no matter what we think about each other,, or have ever thought about each other,, you and me,, we have to pull together on this.. do you get me on this?" bud said pleadingly.. he could not stop his own agony from showing thru...
jason stood at the end of the table,, he placed his palms on the stable and leaned into toward bud.. he looked him directly in the eyes and said,, "i don't know why i am even telling you this.. but for some reason i believe you.. deputy di marco... that is the guy martinez hooked up with his cousin jorge to dispose of the buckets... i swear to god,, that is all i know.. "
they heard the door open,, bud looked up at ren with a look of disgust,, "call in the babysitter in outta the hall,, will ya ren,, this little fucker doesn't know a thing..." bud barked,, as he shot one last pleading glance at jason alexander... he stood and slammed his chair against the table as he pushed it in,, "i need a cup of coffee,, how about you??" he said as he went out the door and quickly down the hall.. he couldn't look ren in the eye.. not now..
di marco,, again with the di marco.. but now he had something to go on.. something no one knew a thing about but him... jorge,, martinez' cousin.. a connection on the outside,, a connection that just might be able to lead him to di marco... now all he had to figure out was how the hell was he going to shake ren malleo,, shake him without allowing him to know he had been shook....
bud looked on in amazement,, as across the table,, ren sat there loudly sucking stray sugar off each finger as if he hadn't another care in the world... as his stomach heaved with disgust,, bud promised himself,, if he made it out of this alive,, he was gonna kill that fat fucking two faced son of a bitch....
"focus,, focus,, you will never get anywhere swirling around in your own dust,," bud chanted to himself silently, in the dimly lighted recesses of his overloaded, aching brain...
he forced himself to focus on the interview...
"you are so full of shit... you might as well save it though,,, i don't know nothing,, so it isn't going to do you any good to be making up horror stories to get me to spill something i don't know..." jason seethed,, looking straight into buds worn,, bloodshot eyes...
even as the words escaped his lips,, he could tell bud wasn't making all of this up... he could tell bud had not the energy to make any of this up.. something was wrong,, something was different.... a cold chill ran the length of his spine,, as he waited in silence for bud to say something... 15 seconds... 30 seconds,, 45 seconds...
"come the fuck on man... what the hell is going on here??? who could possibly even know i know jessa??" he paused,, "except the fucking screws that let her in here.. damn it,, damn it,," he stood and started pacing wringing his hands looking around wildly.. "its them isn't it?? those fuckers... i told martinez not to get involved with those fuckers... i told him it would be drama.. god damn it.. "
"keep doing exactly what you are doing,, don't look at me,, but listen.. act like i am not saying what i am about to say... it is our only chance, alexander,, yours and mine.. no matter what we think about each other,, or have ever thought about each other,, you and me,, we have to pull together on this.. do you get me on this?" bud said pleadingly.. he could not stop his own agony from showing thru...
jason stood at the end of the table,, he placed his palms on the stable and leaned into toward bud.. he looked him directly in the eyes and said,, "i don't know why i am even telling you this.. but for some reason i believe you.. deputy di marco... that is the guy martinez hooked up with his cousin jorge to dispose of the buckets... i swear to god,, that is all i know.. "
they heard the door open,, bud looked up at ren with a look of disgust,, "call in the babysitter in outta the hall,, will ya ren,, this little fucker doesn't know a thing..." bud barked,, as he shot one last pleading glance at jason alexander... he stood and slammed his chair against the table as he pushed it in,, "i need a cup of coffee,, how about you??" he said as he went out the door and quickly down the hall.. he couldn't look ren in the eye.. not now..
di marco,, again with the di marco.. but now he had something to go on.. something no one knew a thing about but him... jorge,, martinez' cousin.. a connection on the outside,, a connection that just might be able to lead him to di marco... now all he had to figure out was how the hell was he going to shake ren malleo,, shake him without allowing him to know he had been shook....
bud looked on in amazement,, as across the table,, ren sat there loudly sucking stray sugar off each finger as if he hadn't another care in the world... as his stomach heaved with disgust,, bud promised himself,, if he made it out of this alive,, he was gonna kill that fat fucking two faced son of a bitch....
Monday, December 3, 2007
chapter forty two
chapter 42
word count: 514
The silence suffocated Jane. The crazy man hadn't spoken for the last hour. She had thought they were bonding when he admitted they were both victims in the same calamitous soup. But now he sat in the corner, curled up, aloof, as though she didn't exist. When he did at last speak, his voice sliced in acerbic cuts through the dark, digging deep.
"Yep. We're both victims, victims of your hubby."
"What?"
"Your hubby. I mean, he's chasing me down til I'm stuck in a hole, and he's abandoned you in this hellish cell, as well."
Jane shuddered. The very idea! "Bud did not abandon me."
"Sweetheart, we've been in here for days. It seems to me he doesn't want to get you back very much or he'd have gotten his precious wife out of here by now." He followed that with a chortle from deep in his throat.
"He's trying. I know he is." Her heart started again... thump, thump.
"In your dreams."
She could hear his shoes scraping the concrete floor, shifting position. The next time he spoke sounding closer, even though it was a whisper. "Seems to me this is a handy way to get rid of a useless wife...an invalid wife...let her die in some stinking basement somewhere."
"NO!"
"Mrs. Kramer, you're going to rot here, while hubby shops around for a new little missus. One with some signs of life below the waist."
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she roared, pulling against the ropes that bound her wrists, wishing her useless legs could propel her. She'd kill him! She'd go over and grab his neck and squeeze and squeeze...a pain in her chest...a pressure the size of an elephant slammed against her, squeezing the air out of her lungs....she couldn't breathe.
A crip like you shouldn't make empty threats," Stan returned. "Besides like you said, we're two peas in a pod, you and me. Hell, maybe we can get together since hubby don't want you." Now that would fix Bud Kramer, screw his wife.
She didn't answer.
"Ms. Kramer?" Nothing, not even a squeak from the wheelchair. Stan dragged himself to her. He found the woman's body slumped over. She was still. Was she breathing? He checked. Dragging back to the door, he pounded with both fists. "HEY! HEY! SOMEBODY! SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THE WOMAN! YOU BETTER GET HERE QUICK! Mission accomplished. He'd taken proper revenge on Bud Kramer, through his precious wife.
As Bud took his last sip of coffee, he placed the cup down, next folding his hands on the table to watch as Ren went for another donut. Unbelievable! A stab of fear suddenly overtook him, deep, resonating, the kind of fear you get in nightmares, uncontrolled. It swirls like a cyclone out of your reach, taunting you, hurting you, and you can't stop it. He felt light-headed as it took him by surprise, knocking the wind out of him. His head swirled while at the attack's conclusion, a black-fisted illusion of dread sucker-punched him in the face. What the hell? Something was wrong, very wrong.
word count: 514
The silence suffocated Jane. The crazy man hadn't spoken for the last hour. She had thought they were bonding when he admitted they were both victims in the same calamitous soup. But now he sat in the corner, curled up, aloof, as though she didn't exist. When he did at last speak, his voice sliced in acerbic cuts through the dark, digging deep.
"Yep. We're both victims, victims of your hubby."
"What?"
"Your hubby. I mean, he's chasing me down til I'm stuck in a hole, and he's abandoned you in this hellish cell, as well."
Jane shuddered. The very idea! "Bud did not abandon me."
"Sweetheart, we've been in here for days. It seems to me he doesn't want to get you back very much or he'd have gotten his precious wife out of here by now." He followed that with a chortle from deep in his throat.
"He's trying. I know he is." Her heart started again... thump, thump.
"In your dreams."
She could hear his shoes scraping the concrete floor, shifting position. The next time he spoke sounding closer, even though it was a whisper. "Seems to me this is a handy way to get rid of a useless wife...an invalid wife...let her die in some stinking basement somewhere."
"NO!"
"Mrs. Kramer, you're going to rot here, while hubby shops around for a new little missus. One with some signs of life below the waist."
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she roared, pulling against the ropes that bound her wrists, wishing her useless legs could propel her. She'd kill him! She'd go over and grab his neck and squeeze and squeeze...a pain in her chest...a pressure the size of an elephant slammed against her, squeezing the air out of her lungs....she couldn't breathe.
A crip like you shouldn't make empty threats," Stan returned. "Besides like you said, we're two peas in a pod, you and me. Hell, maybe we can get together since hubby don't want you." Now that would fix Bud Kramer, screw his wife.
She didn't answer.
"Ms. Kramer?" Nothing, not even a squeak from the wheelchair. Stan dragged himself to her. He found the woman's body slumped over. She was still. Was she breathing? He checked. Dragging back to the door, he pounded with both fists. "HEY! HEY! SOMEBODY! SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THE WOMAN! YOU BETTER GET HERE QUICK! Mission accomplished. He'd taken proper revenge on Bud Kramer, through his precious wife.
As Bud took his last sip of coffee, he placed the cup down, next folding his hands on the table to watch as Ren went for another donut. Unbelievable! A stab of fear suddenly overtook him, deep, resonating, the kind of fear you get in nightmares, uncontrolled. It swirls like a cyclone out of your reach, taunting you, hurting you, and you can't stop it. He felt light-headed as it took him by surprise, knocking the wind out of him. His head swirled while at the attack's conclusion, a black-fisted illusion of dread sucker-punched him in the face. What the hell? Something was wrong, very wrong.
Friday, November 30, 2007
chapter forty one
word count: 679
bud had pulled the prison records,, the fcic's, the local, county, and state reports on both of the inmates he was about to question.. simple street hustlers.. drug addicts,, some recorded violence,, but that was to be expected when every day of your life was spent fighting to survive...
neither of them had been involved in the whole baby thing,, of that he was sure... his only hope is that they had some connection,, or at least some information,, concerning the removal, return, and subsequent disappearance of the buckets in question..
he knew what he had to do.. he had never entered into an interrogation in this fashion,, and swore to god if he got janey out of this alive,, he never would again...
his back was up against the wall. it was time to play both ends against the middle,, and he had to start somewhere... he knew he was playing with fire,, neither alexander, nor martinez had anything to lose... and a person with nothing to lose,, is the most dangerous kind of person there is...
they could both be bought and sold,, by him and anyone else that came along with a sweet enough purse. his gut told him no,, but his heart said yes,, this was about janey,, and that changed everything.
he reread jason alexanders jacket,, there had to be something in there he could use....alexander, jason. dob 9-13-82.. he had spent the last ten years in and out of corrections.. possession, criminal tools, drug abuse,, intent to sale,, petty theft... three of the above arrests had been in conjunction with the same woman,, a jessica longo... known addict, prostitute,, similar rap sheet.. she had been to visit jason the day they killed ruben... no direct tie in,, but alexander had no way of knowing that... it wasn't much,, but it was all he had...
jason didn't like the idea of being pulled in for questioning again. after all in this particular instance he really didn't know anything.. he was picking up trash,, minding his owns business,, and bam!! there it was,, a bucket. a foul smelling bucket. a bucket that just happened to contain the body of a dead infant floating in a sea of rancid grease beside the burnt french fries ... what more could he say??
knowing this did not keep his palms from sweating or his heart from pounding hard in his chest. knowing he was completely innocent of anything that even resembled involvement in this did nothing to set his mind at ease. after all this wouldn't be the first time they had found it convenient to pin some bullshit on him just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the right time...
when jason finally arrived at the interrogation room, kramer had the guard release him from his handcuffs and asked him to wait outside.. he settled into one of the cold metal chairs and looked across the table at jason... there was something in his eyes jason didn't want to see,, a sad, desperate look, that made jason even more uneasy.
"i need you to take me back to the beginning jason... i need to you to tell me everything.. i cannot tell you why i need to know,, but i can tell you that there are already two people dead,, and at least four more lives hanging in the balance..."
"dude, i already told you guys three times everything i know... i mean what is there to know?? it was there,, i was there,, and now i'm here... what else can i say???" jason shuffled his feet and looked everywhere but directly at bud as he spoke..
"and what if i told you one of the lives that was currently hanging in the balance was your friend,, a miss jessa longo??"
jason quit fidgeting and looked directly at bud.. "jessa?? what the fuck could she have to do with any of this???"
"i know of at least two others who are asking that very question at this very moment... only difference is,,, one of them is willing to kill her to find out....."
bud had pulled the prison records,, the fcic's, the local, county, and state reports on both of the inmates he was about to question.. simple street hustlers.. drug addicts,, some recorded violence,, but that was to be expected when every day of your life was spent fighting to survive...
neither of them had been involved in the whole baby thing,, of that he was sure... his only hope is that they had some connection,, or at least some information,, concerning the removal, return, and subsequent disappearance of the buckets in question..
he knew what he had to do.. he had never entered into an interrogation in this fashion,, and swore to god if he got janey out of this alive,, he never would again...
his back was up against the wall. it was time to play both ends against the middle,, and he had to start somewhere... he knew he was playing with fire,, neither alexander, nor martinez had anything to lose... and a person with nothing to lose,, is the most dangerous kind of person there is...
they could both be bought and sold,, by him and anyone else that came along with a sweet enough purse. his gut told him no,, but his heart said yes,, this was about janey,, and that changed everything.
he reread jason alexanders jacket,, there had to be something in there he could use....alexander, jason. dob 9-13-82.. he had spent the last ten years in and out of corrections.. possession, criminal tools, drug abuse,, intent to sale,, petty theft... three of the above arrests had been in conjunction with the same woman,, a jessica longo... known addict, prostitute,, similar rap sheet.. she had been to visit jason the day they killed ruben... no direct tie in,, but alexander had no way of knowing that... it wasn't much,, but it was all he had...
jason didn't like the idea of being pulled in for questioning again. after all in this particular instance he really didn't know anything.. he was picking up trash,, minding his owns business,, and bam!! there it was,, a bucket. a foul smelling bucket. a bucket that just happened to contain the body of a dead infant floating in a sea of rancid grease beside the burnt french fries ... what more could he say??
knowing this did not keep his palms from sweating or his heart from pounding hard in his chest. knowing he was completely innocent of anything that even resembled involvement in this did nothing to set his mind at ease. after all this wouldn't be the first time they had found it convenient to pin some bullshit on him just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the right time...
when jason finally arrived at the interrogation room, kramer had the guard release him from his handcuffs and asked him to wait outside.. he settled into one of the cold metal chairs and looked across the table at jason... there was something in his eyes jason didn't want to see,, a sad, desperate look, that made jason even more uneasy.
"i need you to take me back to the beginning jason... i need to you to tell me everything.. i cannot tell you why i need to know,, but i can tell you that there are already two people dead,, and at least four more lives hanging in the balance..."
"dude, i already told you guys three times everything i know... i mean what is there to know?? it was there,, i was there,, and now i'm here... what else can i say???" jason shuffled his feet and looked everywhere but directly at bud as he spoke..
"and what if i told you one of the lives that was currently hanging in the balance was your friend,, a miss jessa longo??"
jason quit fidgeting and looked directly at bud.. "jessa?? what the fuck could she have to do with any of this???"
"i know of at least two others who are asking that very question at this very moment... only difference is,,, one of them is willing to kill her to find out....."
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Chapter Forty
chapter 40
word count: 653
"Bud, I got the background checks you wanted on Stan White and the others." Red's call interrupted Bud Kramer's turbulent daydream.
"I asked for checks? Must have been a mistake. Forget about it." Bud hung up before Red could respond. He might have been, wished he was, anywhere else. In fact, his old desktop looked oddly unfamiliar, as though it belonged to someone else. Was this the price of losing your honor? Detachment from what used to be familiar and loved.
In a storeroom on the other side of town, Janey shivered, not certain if it was from a draft or sheer terror. She'd been alone for a long time. They'd taken away the man who kidnapped her. Now she sat in the dark, bound by rough ropes and deathly afraid. Thoughts of Bud kept her will to survive alive. Surely they would give her some food soon. She could smell cooking aromas coming from somewhere...garlic, spices, bread baking, even coffee. Her mouth watered. If only they would at least turn on a light. Speaking of "they"--she had no idea who "they" were. Her heart pounded like a racing horse again. She'd had palpitations off and on for hours.
With a creak, the heavy door opened and a bundle dropped to the floor. She shrieked at the heap abandoned in the corner. With the dim light, it was nothing more than a gray mound. A gray mound that moved! And it moaned.
"Oh, goddamn!"
A head rose up from the mass. At least it resembled a head. Even in the dim, Jane could see the face nodded with pain to match the ungodly moans. Was it the man who kidnapped her?
"Are you all right?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"Jesus Christ! Do I look all right?"
"I was just asking..."
"A lot of good that does."
"What...what happened to you?" There went her heart again, racing, racing.
"The bastards beat the shit outta me, can't you see that?"
"I guess. It's dark in here."
"Sweetheart, you should be glad. You wouldn't want to see me in good light."
"I guess you're right. I never could stand the sight of blood."
He snorted in return.
Janey studied the sorrowful lump of a man. He certainly didn't seem as dangerous now as when he dragged her screaming from her home. Now he was small, wounded, defenseless, defenseless like her. She relaxed. "Could I ask you something? Why did you kidnap me?"
In the dim light his body went rigid. "It was all about your dear hubby, lady. I needed to control your dear hubby."
"Why?"
"He was getting too close. That's all. He was getting too close."
She and Bud never thought his work would put his family in danger. A medical examiner normally doesn't delve into the violent side of police work. But then, Bud was no normal medical examiner. "Did you commit a crime?"
"YEAH, I COMMITTED A CRIME! Now back off!"
"It must have been a terrible crime. I'm just saying, kidnapping me was an extreme act."
He bolted up. "Are you trying to make me insane?"
"No. Just trying to figure out how I got into this mess, that's all."
"Well, look, little Miss Sweetness and Light, you were nothing more than a pawn in other people's mind games, okay?"
"Okay...So who are the people holding both of us now?"
He was silent for a moment before answering in a husky whisper, "Mafioso."
Her heart took off on the most rambunctious arrhythmias yet. "What?"
"Lady, if I wasn't tied up, I'd get up and pop you one. Are you ever gonna shut up?"
"I'm just saying it looks to me like we are not enemies anymore. We're fellow victims."
"Well, whoopee! You wanna start a club or something?"
"Well, we could help each other. Give each other moral support at least."
"That we should, lady, that we should."
word count: 653
"Bud, I got the background checks you wanted on Stan White and the others." Red's call interrupted Bud Kramer's turbulent daydream.
"I asked for checks? Must have been a mistake. Forget about it." Bud hung up before Red could respond. He might have been, wished he was, anywhere else. In fact, his old desktop looked oddly unfamiliar, as though it belonged to someone else. Was this the price of losing your honor? Detachment from what used to be familiar and loved.
In a storeroom on the other side of town, Janey shivered, not certain if it was from a draft or sheer terror. She'd been alone for a long time. They'd taken away the man who kidnapped her. Now she sat in the dark, bound by rough ropes and deathly afraid. Thoughts of Bud kept her will to survive alive. Surely they would give her some food soon. She could smell cooking aromas coming from somewhere...garlic, spices, bread baking, even coffee. Her mouth watered. If only they would at least turn on a light. Speaking of "they"--she had no idea who "they" were. Her heart pounded like a racing horse again. She'd had palpitations off and on for hours.
With a creak, the heavy door opened and a bundle dropped to the floor. She shrieked at the heap abandoned in the corner. With the dim light, it was nothing more than a gray mound. A gray mound that moved! And it moaned.
"Oh, goddamn!"
A head rose up from the mass. At least it resembled a head. Even in the dim, Jane could see the face nodded with pain to match the ungodly moans. Was it the man who kidnapped her?
"Are you all right?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"Jesus Christ! Do I look all right?"
"I was just asking..."
"A lot of good that does."
"What...what happened to you?" There went her heart again, racing, racing.
"The bastards beat the shit outta me, can't you see that?"
"I guess. It's dark in here."
"Sweetheart, you should be glad. You wouldn't want to see me in good light."
"I guess you're right. I never could stand the sight of blood."
He snorted in return.
Janey studied the sorrowful lump of a man. He certainly didn't seem as dangerous now as when he dragged her screaming from her home. Now he was small, wounded, defenseless, defenseless like her. She relaxed. "Could I ask you something? Why did you kidnap me?"
In the dim light his body went rigid. "It was all about your dear hubby, lady. I needed to control your dear hubby."
"Why?"
"He was getting too close. That's all. He was getting too close."
She and Bud never thought his work would put his family in danger. A medical examiner normally doesn't delve into the violent side of police work. But then, Bud was no normal medical examiner. "Did you commit a crime?"
"YEAH, I COMMITTED A CRIME! Now back off!"
"It must have been a terrible crime. I'm just saying, kidnapping me was an extreme act."
He bolted up. "Are you trying to make me insane?"
"No. Just trying to figure out how I got into this mess, that's all."
"Well, look, little Miss Sweetness and Light, you were nothing more than a pawn in other people's mind games, okay?"
"Okay...So who are the people holding both of us now?"
He was silent for a moment before answering in a husky whisper, "Mafioso."
Her heart took off on the most rambunctious arrhythmias yet. "What?"
"Lady, if I wasn't tied up, I'd get up and pop you one. Are you ever gonna shut up?"
"I'm just saying it looks to me like we are not enemies anymore. We're fellow victims."
"Well, whoopee! You wanna start a club or something?"
"Well, we could help each other. Give each other moral support at least."
"That we should, lady, that we should."
Saturday, November 24, 2007
chapter thirty nine
word count: 637
bud punched the redial on his cell,, and just as quickly snapped the phone closed... no... he would not involve "red" in this.. red was a good cop,, a straight cop,, and buds only link to the "real" police force at this point in time.. the less red knew then better.. no telling if they would drag him into this somehow,, and then he would have reds future hanging in the balance as well...
"so tell me ren,, exactly what do we know about this guy,, this di marco???" bud himself knew very little.. he was a guard at the prison, he was pals with stan white,, and more than likely he had in some way been involved,, or at least had knowledge of the whole "baby in the bucket" thing that had gotten them into this mess in the first place....
"well,, i can tell you i know for a fact he is a player.. he has as many friends on the inside as he does on the outside... " ren started,, as he loudly smacked his lips around the tip of each finger in hopes of finding a bit of leftover sugar.... '"he's good at what he does... lots of underlying suspicions,, no proof,, ya know what i mean???"
yeah.. bud knew exactly what he meant.. in fact to him it sounded like ren malleo was reading aloud his own autobiography...
for as long as bud could remember everybody suspected warren "ren" malleo was dirty,, was playing both sides against the middle.. but no one could ever pin anything on him.. he had too many friends.. to many favors out.. too much protection... and it wasn't only on the dark side of his family tree.. he had just as many dirty cops that owed him, as he did compadres...
bud decided he might be handy to have as a partner on this thing after all,, if anyone could crawl up vic di marco's ass,, it was ren malleo.. they were one in the same....
as they pulled into the parking lot of the prison, bud flashed his badge at the guard at the gate.. he had not had the chance to make any of his findings on the case public,, and thus the hierarchy of the DOC had no reason to believe he was not there in his original official capacity...
he would continue with the investigation as if he had never heard of the now deceased, jessica what ever the hell her last name was,, and her virulent lover, stan white... he would forget that he knew that it was them that had conceived not only the fetus itself,, but the plan for its unceremonious burial in a bucket full of used kitchen grease. he would forget that he had seen stan white bound, gagged, hog tied, and beaten on the cold cement floor in the back room of malleos restaurante...he would forget for the moment he had ever heard the name vick fucking dimarco...
but he would not for so much as an instant,, forget that this two faced piece of human shit that was now being forced upon him as his partner, was linked by blood to the bastard that had his beloved janey,, held somewhere against her will,, and would not release her to him,, until he had extracted the highest payment imaginable from bud,, his honor... no that he would not, could not forget...
bud took a deep breath.. he closed his eyes and let some of the homicidal rage that now dwelled within him to be caught up in that breath,, and with it,, exhaled...
he would start at day one.. all the way back.. with the two inmates that originally located the baby in the bucket on the side of the road...
he would start with jason alexander and raul martinez....
bud punched the redial on his cell,, and just as quickly snapped the phone closed... no... he would not involve "red" in this.. red was a good cop,, a straight cop,, and buds only link to the "real" police force at this point in time.. the less red knew then better.. no telling if they would drag him into this somehow,, and then he would have reds future hanging in the balance as well...
"so tell me ren,, exactly what do we know about this guy,, this di marco???" bud himself knew very little.. he was a guard at the prison, he was pals with stan white,, and more than likely he had in some way been involved,, or at least had knowledge of the whole "baby in the bucket" thing that had gotten them into this mess in the first place....
"well,, i can tell you i know for a fact he is a player.. he has as many friends on the inside as he does on the outside... " ren started,, as he loudly smacked his lips around the tip of each finger in hopes of finding a bit of leftover sugar.... '"he's good at what he does... lots of underlying suspicions,, no proof,, ya know what i mean???"
yeah.. bud knew exactly what he meant.. in fact to him it sounded like ren malleo was reading aloud his own autobiography...
for as long as bud could remember everybody suspected warren "ren" malleo was dirty,, was playing both sides against the middle.. but no one could ever pin anything on him.. he had too many friends.. to many favors out.. too much protection... and it wasn't only on the dark side of his family tree.. he had just as many dirty cops that owed him, as he did compadres...
bud decided he might be handy to have as a partner on this thing after all,, if anyone could crawl up vic di marco's ass,, it was ren malleo.. they were one in the same....
as they pulled into the parking lot of the prison, bud flashed his badge at the guard at the gate.. he had not had the chance to make any of his findings on the case public,, and thus the hierarchy of the DOC had no reason to believe he was not there in his original official capacity...
he would continue with the investigation as if he had never heard of the now deceased, jessica what ever the hell her last name was,, and her virulent lover, stan white... he would forget that he knew that it was them that had conceived not only the fetus itself,, but the plan for its unceremonious burial in a bucket full of used kitchen grease. he would forget that he had seen stan white bound, gagged, hog tied, and beaten on the cold cement floor in the back room of malleos restaurante...he would forget for the moment he had ever heard the name vick fucking dimarco...
but he would not for so much as an instant,, forget that this two faced piece of human shit that was now being forced upon him as his partner, was linked by blood to the bastard that had his beloved janey,, held somewhere against her will,, and would not release her to him,, until he had extracted the highest payment imaginable from bud,, his honor... no that he would not, could not forget...
bud took a deep breath.. he closed his eyes and let some of the homicidal rage that now dwelled within him to be caught up in that breath,, and with it,, exhaled...
he would start at day one.. all the way back.. with the two inmates that originally located the baby in the bucket on the side of the road...
he would start with jason alexander and raul martinez....
chapter thirty eight
Chapter 38
word count: 462
Bud sipped hot coffee before leaning back to take a long look at his new companion, "Ren." So now he was cavorting with the enemy, a bloody cop on the take. The guy's uncle was mafioso. And Ren was nothing more than a quick fix in the department to keep his family's noses clean. Bud's stomach lurched at the prospect of working with the guy. And, now he promised Uncle Frank he would look the other way when Frank needed him to, just like this idiot...shit. He was no better than Ren now.
The cop looked back, a hesitant smile crossing his face. He appeared less than eager to work with Bud. The fellow took a bite from a sugar donut. Ha! The irony...this filthy hand of the mafia, sitting around drinking coffee, eating donuts, and acting like a friendly neighborhood beat cop.
"Aren't you gonna eat?" Ren wiped sugar off his fingers and flipped open a notebook,
"No."
"Well, as I was telling you in the car, I know who we're looking for. I just don't know where they are right now."
"Refresh my memory." You filthy bastard.
"We're looking for Vic DeMarco and a hot little number he picked up off the street, a hooker."
"Splendid."
"You got an attitude problem?"
Bud returned his gaze. The fat ass-hole. Look at him, stuffing his face with donuts. The man was a poster boy for weakness and lack of discipline. It was hard to believe the guy had such ruthless relatives. The choir boy innocence had worked, though, getting him a job on the force. Who could believe he had blood on his hands?
Then he remembered why he was doing this. Janey's face wafted through his mind, and the picture Uncle Frank had shown him, the one where her beautiful eyes looked out, begging for rescue. "So when did you talk to him last?"
"He called me on his cell phone for an update. I told him what had happened, how Uncle Frank had your wife and Stan. He went ballistic. He wanted them."
"What for?"
"I'm not sure if he is on a power binge or if there's some reason he needs a bargaining tool." Ren took another bite of donut, and continued, answering with his mouth full. "I've never quite understood the guy. A lot of skeletons in his closet."
Bud's heart clouded. "My wife is in the middle of this.You mean he wants a bargaining chip against me?"
"I don't know. You got anything on him?"
"Who the hell is he?"
"Security at the prison. You know him."
Bud gulped his coffee. Of course, that Vic DeMarco. We're back to the prison again. "Did he have anything to do with those canisters that were found?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure."
"Well, let's find out."
word count: 462
Bud sipped hot coffee before leaning back to take a long look at his new companion, "Ren." So now he was cavorting with the enemy, a bloody cop on the take. The guy's uncle was mafioso. And Ren was nothing more than a quick fix in the department to keep his family's noses clean. Bud's stomach lurched at the prospect of working with the guy. And, now he promised Uncle Frank he would look the other way when Frank needed him to, just like this idiot...shit. He was no better than Ren now.
The cop looked back, a hesitant smile crossing his face. He appeared less than eager to work with Bud. The fellow took a bite from a sugar donut. Ha! The irony...this filthy hand of the mafia, sitting around drinking coffee, eating donuts, and acting like a friendly neighborhood beat cop.
"Aren't you gonna eat?" Ren wiped sugar off his fingers and flipped open a notebook,
"No."
"Well, as I was telling you in the car, I know who we're looking for. I just don't know where they are right now."
"Refresh my memory." You filthy bastard.
"We're looking for Vic DeMarco and a hot little number he picked up off the street, a hooker."
"Splendid."
"You got an attitude problem?"
Bud returned his gaze. The fat ass-hole. Look at him, stuffing his face with donuts. The man was a poster boy for weakness and lack of discipline. It was hard to believe the guy had such ruthless relatives. The choir boy innocence had worked, though, getting him a job on the force. Who could believe he had blood on his hands?
Then he remembered why he was doing this. Janey's face wafted through his mind, and the picture Uncle Frank had shown him, the one where her beautiful eyes looked out, begging for rescue. "So when did you talk to him last?"
"He called me on his cell phone for an update. I told him what had happened, how Uncle Frank had your wife and Stan. He went ballistic. He wanted them."
"What for?"
"I'm not sure if he is on a power binge or if there's some reason he needs a bargaining tool." Ren took another bite of donut, and continued, answering with his mouth full. "I've never quite understood the guy. A lot of skeletons in his closet."
Bud's heart clouded. "My wife is in the middle of this.You mean he wants a bargaining chip against me?"
"I don't know. You got anything on him?"
"Who the hell is he?"
"Security at the prison. You know him."
Bud gulped his coffee. Of course, that Vic DeMarco. We're back to the prison again. "Did he have anything to do with those canisters that were found?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure."
"Well, let's find out."
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
chapter thirty seven
word count: 641
"so when do i get to see janey?" bud asked,, knowing full well it would never be that easy...
"not so fast,, my new friend..." uncle frank laughed under his breath,, as he rolled his cigar in the ashtray,, he pushed the ashes around with the stub of his cigar... pondering the ashes as if what he was about to say was hidden in there somewhere,, and he had to find it....
finally he lifted his head,, looked directly at bud and smiled knowingly...
"you understand,, of course," he spoke slowly and distinctly,, "that there are certain aspects of this most recent,, shall we call it,, 'chain of events',, that concern me greatly...." he paused,, exhaled and continued,, "not the least of which is the unfortunate passing of my beloved nephew,, ruben. may he rest in peace...." he made the sign of the cross ,, glanced up,, as if into the heavens,, and then returned his gaze to bud....
"it has been brought to my attention,, that the piece of shit that we found in possession of your lovely wife,, more than likely perpetrated the untimely demise of my dear departed nephew,, as well..." he took a deep breath,, leaned forward on his desk,, settling his chin into the crook between his thumb and forefinger,, and stared directly into buds eyes...
"however,, i,, much like you ,, my friend,, prefer never to jump to hasty a conclusion... i want facts.. physical evidence even where ever possible... an eyewitness perhaps??? and that,, as i am sure you can see,, is where you come into all of this....."
"a friend of mine,, a trusted friend,, has led me to believe that there were others present,, there in the the moments that my ruben drew his final breath... others that can confirm or deny my suspicions,, and thus cut short this period of,, well,, indecision...."
"given your degree of expertise as a detective,, and your intimate knowledge of the point of origination of this atrocity,," he looked knowingly at bud,, causing bud to wonder if in fact he was privy to information concerning the investigation from which all of this had eroded.. "and your,, shall we say,, 'connections'? i have decided that you will be the one to find these 'others',, and bring them here to me... i want you to find them.. i want them delivered to me,, personally.. and i want them,, with in twenty four hours..."
"if and when you comply with my wishes,, i will reunite you with your wife.. and not until.." as he finished his statement uncle frank pushed back his chair,, stood and walked to the door.. for an instant bud thought that was it,, he was going to open the door and usher him out...
instead, as uncle frank opened the door,, he heard him confer briefly,, in hushed tones,, with one of his associates that stood just outside the door...
bud heard the sound of footsteps,, someone walking away? then silence.. finally the returning sound of footsteps,, but this time,, it was more than one set of footsteps,, and they were walking toward the door....
"uncle frank,," bud recognized a familiar voice as it broke the previously dead silence...
"come in,, please... i've been expecting you ... so glad you could join us.." uncle frank greeted the familiar voice warmly,, with an audible kiss on each cheek...
the two of entered the room and the door was closed behind them...they moved toward bud,, who was still seated in silence,, facing uncle franks enormous mahogany desk.. as they walked to the front of the desk and into buds field of vision uncle frank used his hand to signify his desire for bud to stand and greet the newcomer...
"detective," uncle frank smiled as he winked at his guest, " i believe you know my nephew,, my brother wally's oldest son,, warren..."
"so when do i get to see janey?" bud asked,, knowing full well it would never be that easy...
"not so fast,, my new friend..." uncle frank laughed under his breath,, as he rolled his cigar in the ashtray,, he pushed the ashes around with the stub of his cigar... pondering the ashes as if what he was about to say was hidden in there somewhere,, and he had to find it....
finally he lifted his head,, looked directly at bud and smiled knowingly...
"you understand,, of course," he spoke slowly and distinctly,, "that there are certain aspects of this most recent,, shall we call it,, 'chain of events',, that concern me greatly...." he paused,, exhaled and continued,, "not the least of which is the unfortunate passing of my beloved nephew,, ruben. may he rest in peace...." he made the sign of the cross ,, glanced up,, as if into the heavens,, and then returned his gaze to bud....
"it has been brought to my attention,, that the piece of shit that we found in possession of your lovely wife,, more than likely perpetrated the untimely demise of my dear departed nephew,, as well..." he took a deep breath,, leaned forward on his desk,, settling his chin into the crook between his thumb and forefinger,, and stared directly into buds eyes...
"however,, i,, much like you ,, my friend,, prefer never to jump to hasty a conclusion... i want facts.. physical evidence even where ever possible... an eyewitness perhaps??? and that,, as i am sure you can see,, is where you come into all of this....."
"a friend of mine,, a trusted friend,, has led me to believe that there were others present,, there in the the moments that my ruben drew his final breath... others that can confirm or deny my suspicions,, and thus cut short this period of,, well,, indecision...."
"given your degree of expertise as a detective,, and your intimate knowledge of the point of origination of this atrocity,," he looked knowingly at bud,, causing bud to wonder if in fact he was privy to information concerning the investigation from which all of this had eroded.. "and your,, shall we say,, 'connections'? i have decided that you will be the one to find these 'others',, and bring them here to me... i want you to find them.. i want them delivered to me,, personally.. and i want them,, with in twenty four hours..."
"if and when you comply with my wishes,, i will reunite you with your wife.. and not until.." as he finished his statement uncle frank pushed back his chair,, stood and walked to the door.. for an instant bud thought that was it,, he was going to open the door and usher him out...
instead, as uncle frank opened the door,, he heard him confer briefly,, in hushed tones,, with one of his associates that stood just outside the door...
bud heard the sound of footsteps,, someone walking away? then silence.. finally the returning sound of footsteps,, but this time,, it was more than one set of footsteps,, and they were walking toward the door....
"uncle frank,," bud recognized a familiar voice as it broke the previously dead silence...
"come in,, please... i've been expecting you ... so glad you could join us.." uncle frank greeted the familiar voice warmly,, with an audible kiss on each cheek...
the two of entered the room and the door was closed behind them...they moved toward bud,, who was still seated in silence,, facing uncle franks enormous mahogany desk.. as they walked to the front of the desk and into buds field of vision uncle frank used his hand to signify his desire for bud to stand and greet the newcomer...
"detective," uncle frank smiled as he winked at his guest, " i believe you know my nephew,, my brother wally's oldest son,, warren..."
Friday, November 16, 2007
chapter thirty six
word count: 690
The exterior of Malleo's hadn't changed through generations of the family. Father passed it to son and each succeeding generation kept that facade of their life and "business" the same. Bud remembered when he was just a kid standing across the street watching limousines drop off well-heeled "customers." If not them, then dirty skinny degenerate types oozed through the front door like dirty water after a storm, looking over their shoulders in fear with hands trembling. To be succinct, even little Buddy knew something was going on behind those heavy oak doors. Something bad, very bad.
Bud kept those ghostly memories with him as he stepped in Malleo's Ristorante that afternoon. A waitress shot him a startled look and turned her head in alarm to a fellow seated at a table in the corner. He put down his wine and bolted toward the offices in the back.
"I'd like to see Uncle Frank." He stood calmly while nailing the waitress to the floor with his eyes.
"Um...yeah, sure. Tony's seein' about it...Mr. Kramer."
They knew who he was. Not surprising. Everyone in town knew Bud Kramer and his ghastly disposition coupled with astute detective skills. The nightly news had seen to that. They were enamored by his flair, his problem-solving. He always surprised.
"Mr. Kramer..."
Tony escorted him to the back through a darkened hallway. Bud felt thick expensive carpet under his feet. It was too dim to see what color it was. Maybe brown, maybe dark red...like the dried-up blood of Uncle Frank's enemies. A light at the end of the hallway drew them in. A huge man sat hunched over a desk, cigar perched in his fat fingers.
"Mr. Kramer."
"Actually it's Dr. Kramer. I'm a doctor, a pathologist."
"Whatever. Have a seat." He paused, eyeing Bud from top to bottom. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Not many people set Bud's heart to racing, wanting to flee, but Uncle Frank did. The giant man telegraphed a great many bad things. Disdain for others, sinful pride, decadence, blood lust, greed, a rejection of normal values of respect and love for neighbor, replaced with a soldier-like warped view of reality where anyone and everyone else is the enemy and justified to be killed if necessary. He was dirty. Evil. Sick.
"I think we may be looking for the same culprit, the guy who killed your boy Reuben."
"Is that right?"
"Well, I'm looking for him, too."
The big man shifted in his seat, making the overworked old chair squeak. "Don't you think you ought to be looking for your wife?" he asked.
Bud's world came crashing through. Janie! What the hell did this thug know about Jane? Uncle Frank leered back at him, his bulbous face grinning, shooting off sparks of evil glee. Bud lunged at the man; all he could see was black rage. He wanted to kill. But heavy hands held him back. Uncle Frank's minions had popped out of the woodwork.
"You bastard! What do you know about Jane?"
"This." Uncle Frank dangled a photo in front of his eyes. It was a photo of Jane, seated in her wheel chair, ropes wrapped around her, her face contorted by fear.
He pushed against the hands that held him and roared, an unhuman growl. All that he held precious in the world was in the hands of this monster. He had to get her back.
"'Doctor' Kramer, we need to make a deal. Wouldn't you agree?" Uncle Frank took a long puff off his cigar and blew smoke in Bud's face.
Bud looked back. His blood skidding through his veins in a race to parts unknown. His head swirled like he'd stepped into another universe with different colors and thinner air, one where the standard rules certainly no longer apply. Jane! He had to get Jane back! Her face in the photo haunted him. She looked so lost.
"Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want." And so, Bud Kramer, the last honest man, went down in flames.
"From now on, you're one of my boys, you got that?" Uncle Frank said.
The exterior of Malleo's hadn't changed through generations of the family. Father passed it to son and each succeeding generation kept that facade of their life and "business" the same. Bud remembered when he was just a kid standing across the street watching limousines drop off well-heeled "customers." If not them, then dirty skinny degenerate types oozed through the front door like dirty water after a storm, looking over their shoulders in fear with hands trembling. To be succinct, even little Buddy knew something was going on behind those heavy oak doors. Something bad, very bad.
Bud kept those ghostly memories with him as he stepped in Malleo's Ristorante that afternoon. A waitress shot him a startled look and turned her head in alarm to a fellow seated at a table in the corner. He put down his wine and bolted toward the offices in the back.
"I'd like to see Uncle Frank." He stood calmly while nailing the waitress to the floor with his eyes.
"Um...yeah, sure. Tony's seein' about it...Mr. Kramer."
They knew who he was. Not surprising. Everyone in town knew Bud Kramer and his ghastly disposition coupled with astute detective skills. The nightly news had seen to that. They were enamored by his flair, his problem-solving. He always surprised.
"Mr. Kramer..."
Tony escorted him to the back through a darkened hallway. Bud felt thick expensive carpet under his feet. It was too dim to see what color it was. Maybe brown, maybe dark red...like the dried-up blood of Uncle Frank's enemies. A light at the end of the hallway drew them in. A huge man sat hunched over a desk, cigar perched in his fat fingers.
"Mr. Kramer."
"Actually it's Dr. Kramer. I'm a doctor, a pathologist."
"Whatever. Have a seat." He paused, eyeing Bud from top to bottom. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Not many people set Bud's heart to racing, wanting to flee, but Uncle Frank did. The giant man telegraphed a great many bad things. Disdain for others, sinful pride, decadence, blood lust, greed, a rejection of normal values of respect and love for neighbor, replaced with a soldier-like warped view of reality where anyone and everyone else is the enemy and justified to be killed if necessary. He was dirty. Evil. Sick.
"I think we may be looking for the same culprit, the guy who killed your boy Reuben."
"Is that right?"
"Well, I'm looking for him, too."
The big man shifted in his seat, making the overworked old chair squeak. "Don't you think you ought to be looking for your wife?" he asked.
Bud's world came crashing through. Janie! What the hell did this thug know about Jane? Uncle Frank leered back at him, his bulbous face grinning, shooting off sparks of evil glee. Bud lunged at the man; all he could see was black rage. He wanted to kill. But heavy hands held him back. Uncle Frank's minions had popped out of the woodwork.
"You bastard! What do you know about Jane?"
"This." Uncle Frank dangled a photo in front of his eyes. It was a photo of Jane, seated in her wheel chair, ropes wrapped around her, her face contorted by fear.
He pushed against the hands that held him and roared, an unhuman growl. All that he held precious in the world was in the hands of this monster. He had to get her back.
"'Doctor' Kramer, we need to make a deal. Wouldn't you agree?" Uncle Frank took a long puff off his cigar and blew smoke in Bud's face.
Bud looked back. His blood skidding through his veins in a race to parts unknown. His head swirled like he'd stepped into another universe with different colors and thinner air, one where the standard rules certainly no longer apply. Jane! He had to get Jane back! Her face in the photo haunted him. She looked so lost.
"Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want." And so, Bud Kramer, the last honest man, went down in flames.
"From now on, you're one of my boys, you got that?" Uncle Frank said.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
chapter thirty five
word count: 582
bud took a deep cleansing breath and allowed his logical,,calculating mind to put some of the pieces of this puzzle together..
we had the dead girl,, the mother of the child,, jessica whatever her name was... a scared,, beaten imp of a girl,, that had worked in the cafeteria of the prison...
enter,, stan white,, prison guard,, fit for the father,,, he was there in the fore of the whole thing.. had access to the buckets as they seemingly appeared and disappeared like a magicians trick,, somehow in the safe confines of the doc..... yes,, bud believed he could make that happen...he had also been m.i.a.. since the finding of jessica's body..
bud could see it all so clearly now,, white had panicked,, when he had closed in on the woman,, and offed her in an effort to shut her up.. ok,, that fit too...
so far as bud could deduce thru the grieve soaked haze in which he was presently mired... white had been the missing piece in every thing so far,, well everything accept the dead junky.. sargent "ren" malleo's brother reuben,, how did white tie in??
there had to be something... something that bud was missing,, something that tied stan white to that murder,, coincidence was not a word bud believed existed for any good reason other than to provide the inept with an easy explanation,,, and mired in grief tho he was he was definitely not inept...
his mind cleared,, his heart raced.. he could feel it,, he was on to something,, all these years on the force had taught him one very important thing... your gut don't lie...
he picked up the phone and called the station.. he ordered a full background on everyone he knew to be involved,, stan white his partner vic di marco,, the girl, the confirmed mother of the fetus, jessica.. why the hell couldn't he remember her last name??? reuben malleo, deceased,, warren "ren" malleo ,, just because the guy hung his shingle out proclaiming himself to be a cop,, did not relieve him of being a suspect.. especially now,, with a dead brother and his mafioso ties...
"why hadn't bud seen the connection before??" he had had "ren" there with him in the parking lot,, the murder scene,, he had allowed himself to be blinded by sentiment,, and that fucking blind spot had provided exactly the the window that someone needed to crash into his home,, invade his world,, and kidnap his beloved janie...
bud worked it thru,, "ren" was a cop,, he was gonna be easy to keep tabs on ,, his brother was dead,, stan white was out there somewhere,, more than likely with his precious wife.. that left vic dimarco,, unaccounted for..
bud grabbed the phone and made a call to his partner,, red,, "vic di marco.. find him.. you can reach me on my cell..." he barked into the phone,, and snapped it closed.
that left the final piece... the yacovella family...
the family was more than likely gunning for who ever it was they suspected of killing "one of their own" no matter how many times removed... and if bud knew "uncle frank" like he thought he did ,, he knew his criminal mind had latched onto this whole stan white thing long ago,, as he had been unaddled by the wave of grief bud himself had succumbed to,, and not lost out on precious time...
bud grabbed his keys.. he knew now what the next step had to be... malleos restaurante.. he had to get to uncle frank....
bud took a deep cleansing breath and allowed his logical,,calculating mind to put some of the pieces of this puzzle together..
we had the dead girl,, the mother of the child,, jessica whatever her name was... a scared,, beaten imp of a girl,, that had worked in the cafeteria of the prison...
enter,, stan white,, prison guard,, fit for the father,,, he was there in the fore of the whole thing.. had access to the buckets as they seemingly appeared and disappeared like a magicians trick,, somehow in the safe confines of the doc..... yes,, bud believed he could make that happen...he had also been m.i.a.. since the finding of jessica's body..
bud could see it all so clearly now,, white had panicked,, when he had closed in on the woman,, and offed her in an effort to shut her up.. ok,, that fit too...
so far as bud could deduce thru the grieve soaked haze in which he was presently mired... white had been the missing piece in every thing so far,, well everything accept the dead junky.. sargent "ren" malleo's brother reuben,, how did white tie in??
there had to be something... something that bud was missing,, something that tied stan white to that murder,, coincidence was not a word bud believed existed for any good reason other than to provide the inept with an easy explanation,,, and mired in grief tho he was he was definitely not inept...
his mind cleared,, his heart raced.. he could feel it,, he was on to something,, all these years on the force had taught him one very important thing... your gut don't lie...
he picked up the phone and called the station.. he ordered a full background on everyone he knew to be involved,, stan white his partner vic di marco,, the girl, the confirmed mother of the fetus, jessica.. why the hell couldn't he remember her last name??? reuben malleo, deceased,, warren "ren" malleo ,, just because the guy hung his shingle out proclaiming himself to be a cop,, did not relieve him of being a suspect.. especially now,, with a dead brother and his mafioso ties...
"why hadn't bud seen the connection before??" he had had "ren" there with him in the parking lot,, the murder scene,, he had allowed himself to be blinded by sentiment,, and that fucking blind spot had provided exactly the the window that someone needed to crash into his home,, invade his world,, and kidnap his beloved janie...
bud worked it thru,, "ren" was a cop,, he was gonna be easy to keep tabs on ,, his brother was dead,, stan white was out there somewhere,, more than likely with his precious wife.. that left vic dimarco,, unaccounted for..
bud grabbed the phone and made a call to his partner,, red,, "vic di marco.. find him.. you can reach me on my cell..." he barked into the phone,, and snapped it closed.
that left the final piece... the yacovella family...
the family was more than likely gunning for who ever it was they suspected of killing "one of their own" no matter how many times removed... and if bud knew "uncle frank" like he thought he did ,, he knew his criminal mind had latched onto this whole stan white thing long ago,, as he had been unaddled by the wave of grief bud himself had succumbed to,, and not lost out on precious time...
bud grabbed his keys.. he knew now what the next step had to be... malleos restaurante.. he had to get to uncle frank....
Sunday, November 4, 2007
chapter thirty four
chapter 34
word count: 587
Ren hung up after talking to Vic, shaking his head. Would that be enough to satisfy his people? Well, he'd find out soon enough.
Later, he entered the restaurant. The usual rush bulleted through his veins in hefty pumps. It always felt that way as soon as he entered the premises. Even when he was a kid and had no idea of the "business" in the back, there was something about Malleo's Ristorante, perhaps the eerie lighting or its Old World flair. It was like walking into a new era.
"Back again so soon?" the waitress asked.
"Is he in?"
"Yeah, go on back."
Uncle Frank was hunched over his desk as usual. He nodded when Ren walked in. "I hope you have good news for me," he said without looking up.
"Your guys got him."
The red bulbous face broke into an evil smile. "Bring him here. Let me see the sonofabitch who killed my Ruben."
"I'll tell Ricco, but Uncle Frank, there's something else."
"Eh?" His attention had already returned to his work.
"There's a woman, too. He had kidnapped this girl and we got her in the process."
The older man looked back, now interested. "Who the hell is she?"
"Bud Kramer's wife."
"Kramer's wife! What the hell?"
"Uncle Frank, here's the deal. A guard at the prison who knew all about our guy. He's the one who tipped us off. I owe him. He says we can keep the killer, but he doesn't want us to have the woman."
"Has he got some beef with Kramer?"
"I dunno."
Uncle Frank paused, rubbing his chin, thinking. Finally, he spoke. "We'll keep her, too. She must be worth something. I'm sure we can use her to our own advantage...a little leverage against Kramer. He's always been a pain in the ass getting underfoot."
"Vic's not gonna like this."
"So what? What do I care what a two-bit security guard thinks. Bring them both here and forget about it."
Across town, Bud Kramer sat in his favorite chair in their living room. Sitting rigid, straight up, not moving. What was there to move for anyway? He was waiting. Just waiting for the phone to ring. He needed to know where to go, to go and bring his wife home. They were late. They should have called last night. Now it was the middle of the next day and still no word. Where the hell was she? Where was Jane?
It gave him time to think, to ponder the initial call, to wonder with whom he was dealing. The caller had said he knew who took her. He offered to chase that guy down and bring her back. The more Bud thought about it, the more convinced he was the caller was, in fact, the man who took Jane and not a bystander. But why? When the caller made his list of demands, there was nothing in the list to offer any clues.
Perhaps it was someone Bud had brought to justice, maybe sent to jail, and this was simply of matter of revenge. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. His heart stopped. If it was revenge, Jane would never come home. The animal was simply taunting him, making him suffer, before the kill.
Surely, the lab had finished with samples he sent in...he'd hardly completed the thought when the phone rang. It was his assistant, Red.
"Bud, the prints have been identified. A guard at the prison, Stan White."
word count: 587
Ren hung up after talking to Vic, shaking his head. Would that be enough to satisfy his people? Well, he'd find out soon enough.
Later, he entered the restaurant. The usual rush bulleted through his veins in hefty pumps. It always felt that way as soon as he entered the premises. Even when he was a kid and had no idea of the "business" in the back, there was something about Malleo's Ristorante, perhaps the eerie lighting or its Old World flair. It was like walking into a new era.
"Back again so soon?" the waitress asked.
"Is he in?"
"Yeah, go on back."
Uncle Frank was hunched over his desk as usual. He nodded when Ren walked in. "I hope you have good news for me," he said without looking up.
"Your guys got him."
The red bulbous face broke into an evil smile. "Bring him here. Let me see the sonofabitch who killed my Ruben."
"I'll tell Ricco, but Uncle Frank, there's something else."
"Eh?" His attention had already returned to his work.
"There's a woman, too. He had kidnapped this girl and we got her in the process."
The older man looked back, now interested. "Who the hell is she?"
"Bud Kramer's wife."
"Kramer's wife! What the hell?"
"Uncle Frank, here's the deal. A guard at the prison who knew all about our guy. He's the one who tipped us off. I owe him. He says we can keep the killer, but he doesn't want us to have the woman."
"Has he got some beef with Kramer?"
"I dunno."
Uncle Frank paused, rubbing his chin, thinking. Finally, he spoke. "We'll keep her, too. She must be worth something. I'm sure we can use her to our own advantage...a little leverage against Kramer. He's always been a pain in the ass getting underfoot."
"Vic's not gonna like this."
"So what? What do I care what a two-bit security guard thinks. Bring them both here and forget about it."
Across town, Bud Kramer sat in his favorite chair in their living room. Sitting rigid, straight up, not moving. What was there to move for anyway? He was waiting. Just waiting for the phone to ring. He needed to know where to go, to go and bring his wife home. They were late. They should have called last night. Now it was the middle of the next day and still no word. Where the hell was she? Where was Jane?
It gave him time to think, to ponder the initial call, to wonder with whom he was dealing. The caller had said he knew who took her. He offered to chase that guy down and bring her back. The more Bud thought about it, the more convinced he was the caller was, in fact, the man who took Jane and not a bystander. But why? When the caller made his list of demands, there was nothing in the list to offer any clues.
Perhaps it was someone Bud had brought to justice, maybe sent to jail, and this was simply of matter of revenge. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. His heart stopped. If it was revenge, Jane would never come home. The animal was simply taunting him, making him suffer, before the kill.
Surely, the lab had finished with samples he sent in...he'd hardly completed the thought when the phone rang. It was his assistant, Red.
"Bud, the prints have been identified. A guard at the prison, Stan White."
Saturday, November 3, 2007
chapter thirty three
word count: 536
vic smacked open his cell.."di marco.." he barked into the receiver...
"so what is that supposed to mean,, good news and bad news???" he stood up and started pacing the room...
"they what??? how the fuck did that happen??"
"god fucking damn it.. you know what this means??? do you?? do you know what this fucking means?"
whatever it was.. it wasn't good.. jessa could only hear the one side of the conversation,, but from her vantage point the possibilities that she was going to get out of this,, or just out of these freakin' handcuffs was dimming by the second....
"i cannot f'ing believe this.. there has to be something.. some way... let me think on this and i'll get back to you..."
"no!!! for christs sake ren...you have fucking done enough as it is!!!" snap.. the cell was closed... the energy level in the room heightened considerably as vic threw his hands up in disgust...
"small potatoes girl friend.. you just became really small potatoes you know that???"
"what the fuck is that supposed to mean???" jessa snapped back.. handcuffed or no,, jessa was not letting off on her edge.. she had nothing else on which to rely at this point...
"it means.. what ever the fuck happens to you,, and what you know,, doesn't mean diddely squat anymore.. it means you are worth no more to me alive than dead.. it means if you piss me the fuck off i am going to kill you myself you stupid fucking whore.. so if i was you i would keep my freaking pie hole shut!!!!"
vic was ranting,, fuming... he was pissed at the world.. and she was in the perfect position to take the brunt of it.. damn it...
"ok,, ok.. tough ain't gonna cut it sister... whats your next move??" jessa's brain went into over drive.. she could do this.. she had gotten out of worse scrapes than this.. if there was a frickin' god,, he had not saved her from sure death so many times before this,, just to bring her here and let her die handcuffed,, in a chair,, in some cheap motel... that much she knew.....
vic slapped open his cell.. he hit speed dial.. someone he knew well enough to need the number at the press of a button,, jessa noted...
"ren.. check this out.. lets work this thing out together.. call 'em.. tell em they get to keep the guy.. payment.. blood for blood.. for ruben..."
ren??? ruben??? ruben?? as in "big ruben" malleo.. brother of sargent warren "ren" malleo,, that fat bald headed piece of perverted ass??? that fucking asshole junky who insists his father was some kind of a mafioso?? the one with the fucking cop brother that always seemed to get him out of the little cuts and scrapes that landed everyone else in the can?? the very reason that jason was behind bars right now?? ruben?? was that who was fucking beat to a bloody pulp in the parking lot of the ware house?????
the picture was becoming a whole lot clearer... now all she had to do was figure out how vic di marco fit into all of this... she had a sneaking suspicion,, if she could do that... she was home free.....
vic smacked open his cell.."di marco.." he barked into the receiver...
"so what is that supposed to mean,, good news and bad news???" he stood up and started pacing the room...
"they what??? how the fuck did that happen??"
"god fucking damn it.. you know what this means??? do you?? do you know what this fucking means?"
whatever it was.. it wasn't good.. jessa could only hear the one side of the conversation,, but from her vantage point the possibilities that she was going to get out of this,, or just out of these freakin' handcuffs was dimming by the second....
"i cannot f'ing believe this.. there has to be something.. some way... let me think on this and i'll get back to you..."
"no!!! for christs sake ren...you have fucking done enough as it is!!!" snap.. the cell was closed... the energy level in the room heightened considerably as vic threw his hands up in disgust...
"small potatoes girl friend.. you just became really small potatoes you know that???"
"what the fuck is that supposed to mean???" jessa snapped back.. handcuffed or no,, jessa was not letting off on her edge.. she had nothing else on which to rely at this point...
"it means.. what ever the fuck happens to you,, and what you know,, doesn't mean diddely squat anymore.. it means you are worth no more to me alive than dead.. it means if you piss me the fuck off i am going to kill you myself you stupid fucking whore.. so if i was you i would keep my freaking pie hole shut!!!!"
vic was ranting,, fuming... he was pissed at the world.. and she was in the perfect position to take the brunt of it.. damn it...
"ok,, ok.. tough ain't gonna cut it sister... whats your next move??" jessa's brain went into over drive.. she could do this.. she had gotten out of worse scrapes than this.. if there was a frickin' god,, he had not saved her from sure death so many times before this,, just to bring her here and let her die handcuffed,, in a chair,, in some cheap motel... that much she knew.....
vic slapped open his cell.. he hit speed dial.. someone he knew well enough to need the number at the press of a button,, jessa noted...
"ren.. check this out.. lets work this thing out together.. call 'em.. tell em they get to keep the guy.. payment.. blood for blood.. for ruben..."
ren??? ruben??? ruben?? as in "big ruben" malleo.. brother of sargent warren "ren" malleo,, that fat bald headed piece of perverted ass??? that fucking asshole junky who insists his father was some kind of a mafioso?? the one with the fucking cop brother that always seemed to get him out of the little cuts and scrapes that landed everyone else in the can?? the very reason that jason was behind bars right now?? ruben?? was that who was fucking beat to a bloody pulp in the parking lot of the ware house?????
the picture was becoming a whole lot clearer... now all she had to do was figure out how vic di marco fit into all of this... she had a sneaking suspicion,, if she could do that... she was home free.....
chapter thirty two
chapter 32
word count: 541
Jane opened her eyes slowly, very slowly because with the slightest movement her head protested in thunderous bolts of pain. She must have fainted...or been knocked out. With a deep breath to withstand the next pang, she threw her eyes wide open. The room was dimmed. A guard stood by the door, a desolate figure hunched over a machine gun. A tiny ray of soft morning light reached through an open slit where the drapes didn't quite come together. It must be morning. The light beam danced across the carpet in a frenetic display, driven by an obscure movement outside turning its beam off and on like a light switch. The little dancing light was like a ray of hope, hope she would get out of there and back to Bud.
He would be worried, always treating her like a porcelain doll, fragile and easily broken. But she was made of tougher stuff. Being a cripple her whole life toughened her other senses and hardened her skin. A quiet woman, her powers of observation and deduction were astute. It was no accident Bud frequently brought home mysteries to pick her brain. Her current predicament had come out of nowhere though. She could only guess these thugs were Bud's enemies, including the one bound, gagged, and dumped in a heap across the room from her, her first abductor.
It must be a motel room--the cheap TV on a dresser, monotone bedspread. The bathroom door lay ajar, a crack revealing bright light inside. A movement. A voice.
"Ren? Tell Uncle Frank. We got him, and the woman, too. I don't know what you want to do with the cesspool who whacked Ruben, but the woman could be valuable to us."
The other voice crackled in Ricco's ear. "You got Stan? Jesus! That's great. I'll tell Uncle Frank. Maybe let him decide on the festivities. But Ricco, the woman, she's married to a cop! If you jerk around with her, you'll have every badge in town gunning for you for kidnapping one of their own."
Ricco shifted on his feet nervously, finally sitting on the closed toilet seat. He leaned forward and hissed into the phone, "I gotta use her for something! I got a lot of trouble chasing my ass. She could buy me freedom, man!"
Jane stretched to listen. It was her life they were talking about. Although she only heard one side, it was enough. Enough to know she wouldn't be going home soon. A shuffle made her look up. The thug across the room was waking.
"Ow, shit!" He moaned, then startled when he saw his thigh, wrapped with a sheet, a blood-stained sheet, although the brilliant hues of red where it was fresh, and a duller maroon where old blood had dried, looked entirely gray in the dim light. He gazed over and spotted Jane.
He nodded to her and moved his gagged face in frantic motions, enticing her to come closer.
It was then Jane realized she was gagged, too, and her hands bound. She looked back, eyes wide. Neither of them were going anywhere, at least not by their own volitions. Not that she would go anywhere with that sonofabitch anyway.
word count: 541
Jane opened her eyes slowly, very slowly because with the slightest movement her head protested in thunderous bolts of pain. She must have fainted...or been knocked out. With a deep breath to withstand the next pang, she threw her eyes wide open. The room was dimmed. A guard stood by the door, a desolate figure hunched over a machine gun. A tiny ray of soft morning light reached through an open slit where the drapes didn't quite come together. It must be morning. The light beam danced across the carpet in a frenetic display, driven by an obscure movement outside turning its beam off and on like a light switch. The little dancing light was like a ray of hope, hope she would get out of there and back to Bud.
He would be worried, always treating her like a porcelain doll, fragile and easily broken. But she was made of tougher stuff. Being a cripple her whole life toughened her other senses and hardened her skin. A quiet woman, her powers of observation and deduction were astute. It was no accident Bud frequently brought home mysteries to pick her brain. Her current predicament had come out of nowhere though. She could only guess these thugs were Bud's enemies, including the one bound, gagged, and dumped in a heap across the room from her, her first abductor.
It must be a motel room--the cheap TV on a dresser, monotone bedspread. The bathroom door lay ajar, a crack revealing bright light inside. A movement. A voice.
"Ren? Tell Uncle Frank. We got him, and the woman, too. I don't know what you want to do with the cesspool who whacked Ruben, but the woman could be valuable to us."
The other voice crackled in Ricco's ear. "You got Stan? Jesus! That's great. I'll tell Uncle Frank. Maybe let him decide on the festivities. But Ricco, the woman, she's married to a cop! If you jerk around with her, you'll have every badge in town gunning for you for kidnapping one of their own."
Ricco shifted on his feet nervously, finally sitting on the closed toilet seat. He leaned forward and hissed into the phone, "I gotta use her for something! I got a lot of trouble chasing my ass. She could buy me freedom, man!"
Jane stretched to listen. It was her life they were talking about. Although she only heard one side, it was enough. Enough to know she wouldn't be going home soon. A shuffle made her look up. The thug across the room was waking.
"Ow, shit!" He moaned, then startled when he saw his thigh, wrapped with a sheet, a blood-stained sheet, although the brilliant hues of red where it was fresh, and a duller maroon where old blood had dried, looked entirely gray in the dim light. He gazed over and spotted Jane.
He nodded to her and moved his gagged face in frantic motions, enticing her to come closer.
It was then Jane realized she was gagged, too, and her hands bound. She looked back, eyes wide. Neither of them were going anywhere, at least not by their own volitions. Not that she would go anywhere with that sonofabitch anyway.
Monday, October 29, 2007
chapter thirty one
word count: 515
a list of contingencies,, was rattled off by the muffled voice on the phone... they were to be followed down to the letter,, and would result in a return call ONLY after all heat had been verifiable called off...
it was then that bud would be given the location at which he would find his most cherished janey, unharmed... one misstep,, one deviation,, and janey would buy it.. plain and simple...
bud gave his solemn word to follow all the instructions and await the return call.. what else could he do?? the life of his beloved janey swung in the balance...
as satisfied as any man in his position could be,, that a deal had been struck,, stan snapped closed his cell phone and looked in the rear view mirror at janey harnessed into the rear seat of the navigator.. eyes wide with fear,, mouth gagged,, and limbs bound...
"how the fuck did it go this far??" stan could not help but ask himself.. the reality that he had kidnapped an innocent invalid in a last ditch effort to save his own skin,, becoming ever so real to him as he watched a single tear escape janey's eye and trickle slowly down her porcelain white cheek...
like fireworks,, boom!! boom!! boom!! boom!! four shots rang out.. one by one the tires of the navigator where hit and conceded to the deadly blasts.. stan head flew about on his neck,, doing a 180 this way and that... "what the fuck??"
it was then that the three masked gunmen,, dressed head to toe in black,, each pointing a high powered automatic weapon at his head became visible in the darkness.. he could see glow of the red laser pinpoints on his reflection in the otherwise darkened rear view mirror...
janey let out a gurgling scream,, squelched by the gag secured tightly in her mouth.. she did her best to slump down in the seat,, but was held fast by the seat belts designed to secure her safety...
"get out of the fucking truck!!" boomed three voices almost simultaneously.. shots rang out... boop-boop-boop-boop-boop they navigator was being riddled with bullets.. it was only a matter of time till one of them nailed the gas tank. boop-boop-boop.. still more shots rang out.. they were coming from all directions..
stans survival instinct kicked in.. he threw the truck in reverse and stomped on the gas.. sparks shot from the rims as the forced them to grate mercilessly on the pavement...
his last ditch effort was abruptly cut short as he slammed full speed into an unlit,, but securely anchored light pole.. it sliced threw the back door of the navigator,, stopping just short of janey,, and catapulting stan headlong onto the windshield...
before he could regain his senses the three gunmen were upon him... they shot out the lock on the passengers side door.. they were in the truck.. he was being dragged out onto the pavement.. stan tried to scream,, but as if he was living a dream sequence,, no sound would escape...
he felt a swift jab in his thigh.. then everything went black...
a list of contingencies,, was rattled off by the muffled voice on the phone... they were to be followed down to the letter,, and would result in a return call ONLY after all heat had been verifiable called off...
it was then that bud would be given the location at which he would find his most cherished janey, unharmed... one misstep,, one deviation,, and janey would buy it.. plain and simple...
bud gave his solemn word to follow all the instructions and await the return call.. what else could he do?? the life of his beloved janey swung in the balance...
as satisfied as any man in his position could be,, that a deal had been struck,, stan snapped closed his cell phone and looked in the rear view mirror at janey harnessed into the rear seat of the navigator.. eyes wide with fear,, mouth gagged,, and limbs bound...
"how the fuck did it go this far??" stan could not help but ask himself.. the reality that he had kidnapped an innocent invalid in a last ditch effort to save his own skin,, becoming ever so real to him as he watched a single tear escape janey's eye and trickle slowly down her porcelain white cheek...
like fireworks,, boom!! boom!! boom!! boom!! four shots rang out.. one by one the tires of the navigator where hit and conceded to the deadly blasts.. stan head flew about on his neck,, doing a 180 this way and that... "what the fuck??"
it was then that the three masked gunmen,, dressed head to toe in black,, each pointing a high powered automatic weapon at his head became visible in the darkness.. he could see glow of the red laser pinpoints on his reflection in the otherwise darkened rear view mirror...
janey let out a gurgling scream,, squelched by the gag secured tightly in her mouth.. she did her best to slump down in the seat,, but was held fast by the seat belts designed to secure her safety...
"get out of the fucking truck!!" boomed three voices almost simultaneously.. shots rang out... boop-boop-boop-boop-boop they navigator was being riddled with bullets.. it was only a matter of time till one of them nailed the gas tank. boop-boop-boop.. still more shots rang out.. they were coming from all directions..
stans survival instinct kicked in.. he threw the truck in reverse and stomped on the gas.. sparks shot from the rims as the forced them to grate mercilessly on the pavement...
his last ditch effort was abruptly cut short as he slammed full speed into an unlit,, but securely anchored light pole.. it sliced threw the back door of the navigator,, stopping just short of janey,, and catapulting stan headlong onto the windshield...
before he could regain his senses the three gunmen were upon him... they shot out the lock on the passengers side door.. they were in the truck.. he was being dragged out onto the pavement.. stan tried to scream,, but as if he was living a dream sequence,, no sound would escape...
he felt a swift jab in his thigh.. then everything went black...
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Chapter thirty
chapter 30
word count 449
With a gloved hand, Bud placed the bloody knife in a plastic bag, then stood back to gaze at the empty wheelchair. Next, he'd dust it for prints. Check for DNA. Who would do this? He hadn't called it in yet. To bring in the cops would disturb the sanctity ensconced in the quiet of this empty room where his thoughts prevailed. Jane! Poor Jane, an invalid in a wheelchair, helpless, carried off...His Jane! He'd always treasured her like a china doll, cared for her, loved her.
He'd been violated. This home, this place away from the dirt and grit of his normal existence, this refuge from it all, and his gentle, comforting wife...intruded upon by a stranger who ripped it to shreds leaving broken and empty parts behind. If he closed his eyes, he could sense her out there somewhere. She was all right. He knew she was all right. But probably very frightened. She was helpless, unable to help herself or run away.
Bud Kramer wanted to kill whoever did this. An unfamiliar blood lust invaded his heart. In everyday life, he was a medical examiner, a scientist; he never carried a gun. It was against his principles. His typical day was filled with cleaning up the vestiges of death, and he had no interest in causing more of it...until now.
His cell blaring in his top pocket interrupted. He fumbled it out, still dwelling on the residue of his conflicted emotions.
"Bud Kramer?" The other voice sounded distant. It fought to get his attention.
"Yes."
"I understand your wife is missing."
His heart lurched. "What do you know about it?"
"I know where she is. I saw her and the guy who took her. I can help you...if you help me."
Games! What kind of games was this idiot playing? "What do you mean?"
"I know where they are. I'll chase them down and get your wife, return her to you. All I want is for you to drop it at that. The guy who took her. I want him. I don't want the cops to get him. If you let it go, don't tell anyone, he'll be mine. You get what you want. I get what I want. Do we have a deal?"
Bud had never made any deals. But this one would bring Jane back to him. If there was one thing people said about Bud Kramer, even though they loathed his sharp tongue, it was that he was honest. But Jane was out there somewhere...frightened, pulled out of her fairytale innocent existence...helpless to fight back. This went beyond job description or personal ethics. It was all about Jane.
"You've got a deal," he said.
word count 449
With a gloved hand, Bud placed the bloody knife in a plastic bag, then stood back to gaze at the empty wheelchair. Next, he'd dust it for prints. Check for DNA. Who would do this? He hadn't called it in yet. To bring in the cops would disturb the sanctity ensconced in the quiet of this empty room where his thoughts prevailed. Jane! Poor Jane, an invalid in a wheelchair, helpless, carried off...His Jane! He'd always treasured her like a china doll, cared for her, loved her.
He'd been violated. This home, this place away from the dirt and grit of his normal existence, this refuge from it all, and his gentle, comforting wife...intruded upon by a stranger who ripped it to shreds leaving broken and empty parts behind. If he closed his eyes, he could sense her out there somewhere. She was all right. He knew she was all right. But probably very frightened. She was helpless, unable to help herself or run away.
Bud Kramer wanted to kill whoever did this. An unfamiliar blood lust invaded his heart. In everyday life, he was a medical examiner, a scientist; he never carried a gun. It was against his principles. His typical day was filled with cleaning up the vestiges of death, and he had no interest in causing more of it...until now.
His cell blaring in his top pocket interrupted. He fumbled it out, still dwelling on the residue of his conflicted emotions.
"Bud Kramer?" The other voice sounded distant. It fought to get his attention.
"Yes."
"I understand your wife is missing."
His heart lurched. "What do you know about it?"
"I know where she is. I saw her and the guy who took her. I can help you...if you help me."
Games! What kind of games was this idiot playing? "What do you mean?"
"I know where they are. I'll chase them down and get your wife, return her to you. All I want is for you to drop it at that. The guy who took her. I want him. I don't want the cops to get him. If you let it go, don't tell anyone, he'll be mine. You get what you want. I get what I want. Do we have a deal?"
Bud had never made any deals. But this one would bring Jane back to him. If there was one thing people said about Bud Kramer, even though they loathed his sharp tongue, it was that he was honest. But Jane was out there somewhere...frightened, pulled out of her fairytale innocent existence...helpless to fight back. This went beyond job description or personal ethics. It was all about Jane.
"You've got a deal," he said.
Friday, October 26, 2007
chapter twenty nine
word count: 506
ricco salvatore had been in or around the "protection" business his whole life.. if you wanted something covered,, you wanted ricco salvatore.. he was thick and smooth,, like a fine italian olive oil he spread quickly and evenly over situation,, with little fat or excess,, and he did his best work when the heat was on....
and the heat was definitely on.. he had reports that the i.a.'s were in on the hunt.. that meant there was him,, the whole county police and sheriffs offices and now the i.a's all searching for stan white,, the scumbag piece of shit that took out "big wally" malleos,, junky fuckin kid...
ricco had been at the game for too long.. he knew law enforcement as well as he knew his own family.. he knew there was no fucking way that there was this much police action gunning for this white son of a bitch for killing some junky off the street.. oh no ,, there was a back story to this,, and right this moment ricco had put his doggs onto finding out what that back story was,, as you never know when a man in his position might need a little insider info to glaze over a "little indiscretion" here or there...
as was his custom,,, he had begun his own fact finding mission in what he saw was the hotbed of all of this trouble to begin with.. he had called a couple of the guys he knew in the doc.. he had found out there was some kind of internal investigation going on over there.. some inmates had found a dead baby in a bucket on the side of the road during a routine clean up,, and somehow or another the bucket,, read the baby,, was linked back to the doc itself.. it had all been on the hush hush,, but ricco was just the kind of guy that paid,,, and paid well,, for such information...
the lead forensic detective on the case was bud kramer... a good cop.. a respected cop.. a cop that could not be bought.. ricco admired that.. the man had convictions,, he believed in them,, and he had always remained unwilling to back down.. ricco should have been so lucky to find a man like him to work his side of the street...
he had a man on bud,, and another on buds residence.. cripple wife.. long story,, but likely easy target... a weakness such as this was seldom overlooked by the kind of coward son of a bitch that would take down a ne'er do well fucking junky in a parking lot with a tire iron..
and ricco had been right on the money... as he flipped his cell phone closed he was secure in the fact that not only would the two guys he had tailing stan white bring him in,, but they would return the little woman to bud kramer in the best possible condition.. and that my friend,, was something even bud kramer would be willing to pay for....one way or another....
ricco salvatore had been in or around the "protection" business his whole life.. if you wanted something covered,, you wanted ricco salvatore.. he was thick and smooth,, like a fine italian olive oil he spread quickly and evenly over situation,, with little fat or excess,, and he did his best work when the heat was on....
and the heat was definitely on.. he had reports that the i.a.'s were in on the hunt.. that meant there was him,, the whole county police and sheriffs offices and now the i.a's all searching for stan white,, the scumbag piece of shit that took out "big wally" malleos,, junky fuckin kid...
ricco had been at the game for too long.. he knew law enforcement as well as he knew his own family.. he knew there was no fucking way that there was this much police action gunning for this white son of a bitch for killing some junky off the street.. oh no ,, there was a back story to this,, and right this moment ricco had put his doggs onto finding out what that back story was,, as you never know when a man in his position might need a little insider info to glaze over a "little indiscretion" here or there...
as was his custom,,, he had begun his own fact finding mission in what he saw was the hotbed of all of this trouble to begin with.. he had called a couple of the guys he knew in the doc.. he had found out there was some kind of internal investigation going on over there.. some inmates had found a dead baby in a bucket on the side of the road during a routine clean up,, and somehow or another the bucket,, read the baby,, was linked back to the doc itself.. it had all been on the hush hush,, but ricco was just the kind of guy that paid,,, and paid well,, for such information...
the lead forensic detective on the case was bud kramer... a good cop.. a respected cop.. a cop that could not be bought.. ricco admired that.. the man had convictions,, he believed in them,, and he had always remained unwilling to back down.. ricco should have been so lucky to find a man like him to work his side of the street...
he had a man on bud,, and another on buds residence.. cripple wife.. long story,, but likely easy target... a weakness such as this was seldom overlooked by the kind of coward son of a bitch that would take down a ne'er do well fucking junky in a parking lot with a tire iron..
and ricco had been right on the money... as he flipped his cell phone closed he was secure in the fact that not only would the two guys he had tailing stan white bring him in,, but they would return the little woman to bud kramer in the best possible condition.. and that my friend,, was something even bud kramer would be willing to pay for....one way or another....
Chapter twenty eight
Chapter twenty eight
word count: 535
Stan made up his mind. He was sick of the chase. He needed safe haven, needed a way to make Bud Kramer back off.
"I know your weakness, Buddy boy," he murmured. Bud had a wife. Not many knew it, but Stan stumbled over the information in the clerk's office one day while fishing through personnel files looking for crap on someone else... for a little blackmail. He remembered being in a hurry, tossing through the folders like a mad man before the office assistant returned. And Bud Kramer's file fell right into his fingers. He had a wife. Later, Stan had driven past the Victorian on Skyvue Drive and seen the lady in a wheelchair on the porch, reading.
Jane Kramer had finished her tea and settled in with a good book.
"Ms. Kramer, can I get you anything else?" the housekeeper asked. That lady was a huge woman, with legs as big as hams bulging out below the hem of her dowdy house dress, and worn canvas shoes squeezed on swollen feet, while a bitter smile on her face matched the ensemble.
"No, Patty. You should go home now. You look tired."
"Thanks. I will." The fat lady grabbed her purse from a table and left without a word.
Jane sighed and picked up her book. This one wasn't working out either. They'd have to find another housekeeper soon. Glancing at her watch, she noted Bud would be home. Patty always left a meal warming on the oven. Today's spicy chili aromas made her mouth water. At least the woman was a good cook. She returned to her novel, a good murder mystery.
Stan slipped in the door easily. The housekeeper came out as he mounted the porch steps. He'd smile and spoke.
"I'm Ms. Kramer's cousin, in from Texas. How do you do? Is she in?"
The weary woman eyed him with disdain. "Yeah, just go in. She's right in the living room there." With a limp wave, she took off, anxious to get home to a cold beer and put her feet up.
"Thanks," he said. Thanks for making it so easy, bitch!
His blood pulsed like a rock band gone nuts, discordant themes doing war with one another, slicing through his head. He loved the hunt. The stealth, the surprised victim, the clutch to the throat to silence him. Where was she?
He spied her. Stuck in a wheelchair. This was too easy. Creeping up behind...the clutch...the muffled cry...the knife to her neck.
"Keep quiet and I won't kill you," he hissed in her ear. Her body stiffened. "You're coming with me," he said.
Bud returned home to an empty house. At first, he thought she was asleep. Then he looked in the living room, the bedroom, everywhere. His gut told him. His gut told him something was very wrong. His eyes confirmed it when he saw the knife on the floor. Blood decorated the weapon in a ghastly pattern of death strokes. But the blood was dried. Oh God! Hopefully it wasn't hers. He had to find her. He had to find Jane. But where?
word count: 535
Stan made up his mind. He was sick of the chase. He needed safe haven, needed a way to make Bud Kramer back off.
"I know your weakness, Buddy boy," he murmured. Bud had a wife. Not many knew it, but Stan stumbled over the information in the clerk's office one day while fishing through personnel files looking for crap on someone else... for a little blackmail. He remembered being in a hurry, tossing through the folders like a mad man before the office assistant returned. And Bud Kramer's file fell right into his fingers. He had a wife. Later, Stan had driven past the Victorian on Skyvue Drive and seen the lady in a wheelchair on the porch, reading.
Jane Kramer had finished her tea and settled in with a good book.
"Ms. Kramer, can I get you anything else?" the housekeeper asked. That lady was a huge woman, with legs as big as hams bulging out below the hem of her dowdy house dress, and worn canvas shoes squeezed on swollen feet, while a bitter smile on her face matched the ensemble.
"No, Patty. You should go home now. You look tired."
"Thanks. I will." The fat lady grabbed her purse from a table and left without a word.
Jane sighed and picked up her book. This one wasn't working out either. They'd have to find another housekeeper soon. Glancing at her watch, she noted Bud would be home. Patty always left a meal warming on the oven. Today's spicy chili aromas made her mouth water. At least the woman was a good cook. She returned to her novel, a good murder mystery.
Stan slipped in the door easily. The housekeeper came out as he mounted the porch steps. He'd smile and spoke.
"I'm Ms. Kramer's cousin, in from Texas. How do you do? Is she in?"
The weary woman eyed him with disdain. "Yeah, just go in. She's right in the living room there." With a limp wave, she took off, anxious to get home to a cold beer and put her feet up.
"Thanks," he said. Thanks for making it so easy, bitch!
His blood pulsed like a rock band gone nuts, discordant themes doing war with one another, slicing through his head. He loved the hunt. The stealth, the surprised victim, the clutch to the throat to silence him. Where was she?
He spied her. Stuck in a wheelchair. This was too easy. Creeping up behind...the clutch...the muffled cry...the knife to her neck.
"Keep quiet and I won't kill you," he hissed in her ear. Her body stiffened. "You're coming with me," he said.
Bud returned home to an empty house. At first, he thought she was asleep. Then he looked in the living room, the bedroom, everywhere. His gut told him. His gut told him something was very wrong. His eyes confirmed it when he saw the knife on the floor. Blood decorated the weapon in a ghastly pattern of death strokes. But the blood was dried. Oh God! Hopefully it wasn't hers. He had to find her. He had to find Jane. But where?
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
chapter twenty seven
word count: 610
despite his original heady joy at seeing jessa in the doorway,, cuffed and once again within his realm,, the voice of reason,, such as it was,, inside vic di marco took over and told him he better buy a little time and think about the next step...
although a nagging part of him, he liked to call "little jimmy",, said cuff her to the bed and just fuck the shit out of her every available orifice... vic decided to go with the slow methodical approach,, and began by calling down to jorge,, and requesting a pair of bolt cutters at his earliest convenience,, translation,, "yester-fucking-day..."
he slowed down the tempo of the whole thing.. offered jessa a beer,, instructed her to relax,, and have a seat, and resumed his position on the bed...
"so what the fuck is exactly going on here??" jessa asked as she hoisted the beer to her parched lips with almost unequivocal ease,, for someone that had been nearly killed, kidnapped and remained handcuffed in a cheap motel room with a man of questionable intentions...
a resilience,, vic did not let go unnoticed... "work it di marco.." he couldn't help but say to himself...." there may be more than just a easy piece of ass in there somewhere,, and right this moment you need every fucking thing going your way,, you can muster..."
"you got balls for a bitch in cuffs..." he retorted,, doing his best to assume the position of authority he believed was rightly his,, while not treading too heavily until he decided what purpose this little bitch might serve for him..." i say we start with you... and that punk alexander you went to visit today..."
"jason,, what the fuck could jason have to do with all of this... he's fucking locked up... hes been locked up,, you know that.." jessa looked at him with a face that read confusion,, but inwardly a very definite light went on...
this fucker was in some way connected to that dead baby.. has to be.. why else would he have taken an interest in her?? surely a guy like that didn't have to pay for pussy,, and even if he did he didn't have to shop it at the doc.... he thought jason knew something,, and he had talked to her about it.. that was the only logical explanation... he wanted to know what jason knew....
"just answer the fucking question, ok?? don't tell me what i already know..." vic took a long pull off his beer,, never loosing sight of her even as he tipped the can to his lips...
jessa assumed the position....
"jason is my old man,, or was my old man,, or might still be my old man,, i don't know ... its a complicated arrangement... with him in there and me out here,, who knows... a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do you know..." she said,, sheepishly hanging her head,, rubbing her feet together uncomfortably.. the perfect 'she ought to be ashamed' stance....
" last week i heard something in the news.. i saw jason on the tv,, something about him and some other dude finding a dead baby in a bucket on the side of the road... to tell you the truth,, the only reason i went in there today was to find out what the fuck was up with all of that... you know,, did he have anything to do with it... cuz i might be a lot of things,, but i ain't no accomplice to no shit like that you know...." her voice trailed off with her eyes....
the silence was broken by the chime of vic's cell... simultaneously,, they looked at each other,, each silently hoping it was jorge....
despite his original heady joy at seeing jessa in the doorway,, cuffed and once again within his realm,, the voice of reason,, such as it was,, inside vic di marco took over and told him he better buy a little time and think about the next step...
although a nagging part of him, he liked to call "little jimmy",, said cuff her to the bed and just fuck the shit out of her every available orifice... vic decided to go with the slow methodical approach,, and began by calling down to jorge,, and requesting a pair of bolt cutters at his earliest convenience,, translation,, "yester-fucking-day..."
he slowed down the tempo of the whole thing.. offered jessa a beer,, instructed her to relax,, and have a seat, and resumed his position on the bed...
"so what the fuck is exactly going on here??" jessa asked as she hoisted the beer to her parched lips with almost unequivocal ease,, for someone that had been nearly killed, kidnapped and remained handcuffed in a cheap motel room with a man of questionable intentions...
a resilience,, vic did not let go unnoticed... "work it di marco.." he couldn't help but say to himself...." there may be more than just a easy piece of ass in there somewhere,, and right this moment you need every fucking thing going your way,, you can muster..."
"you got balls for a bitch in cuffs..." he retorted,, doing his best to assume the position of authority he believed was rightly his,, while not treading too heavily until he decided what purpose this little bitch might serve for him..." i say we start with you... and that punk alexander you went to visit today..."
"jason,, what the fuck could jason have to do with all of this... he's fucking locked up... hes been locked up,, you know that.." jessa looked at him with a face that read confusion,, but inwardly a very definite light went on...
this fucker was in some way connected to that dead baby.. has to be.. why else would he have taken an interest in her?? surely a guy like that didn't have to pay for pussy,, and even if he did he didn't have to shop it at the doc.... he thought jason knew something,, and he had talked to her about it.. that was the only logical explanation... he wanted to know what jason knew....
"just answer the fucking question, ok?? don't tell me what i already know..." vic took a long pull off his beer,, never loosing sight of her even as he tipped the can to his lips...
jessa assumed the position....
"jason is my old man,, or was my old man,, or might still be my old man,, i don't know ... its a complicated arrangement... with him in there and me out here,, who knows... a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do you know..." she said,, sheepishly hanging her head,, rubbing her feet together uncomfortably.. the perfect 'she ought to be ashamed' stance....
" last week i heard something in the news.. i saw jason on the tv,, something about him and some other dude finding a dead baby in a bucket on the side of the road... to tell you the truth,, the only reason i went in there today was to find out what the fuck was up with all of that... you know,, did he have anything to do with it... cuz i might be a lot of things,, but i ain't no accomplice to no shit like that you know...." her voice trailed off with her eyes....
the silence was broken by the chime of vic's cell... simultaneously,, they looked at each other,, each silently hoping it was jorge....
Sunday, October 21, 2007
chapter twenty six
Chapter twenty six
word count: 465
Bud backed away then as though the gesture embarrassed him. A troubled frown crossed his face as he studied the other man.
"Look, Ren. I know your family is going to be on the warpath over this..."
"I know. I know...I'll keep them at bay. I want to see justice served just as much as you do."
Ha! Easier said than done. Later, he stood outside Malleo's Ristorante contemplating long and hard before finally opening the door and entering. Plush surroundings wrapped around him and pulled him in. It was warm, with soft light emanating from candles, one lit on each table, and tiny lamps along the walls. Thick red carpets felt spongy underfoot and huge Renaissance paintings in massive gilded frames peppered the walls against dark printed wallpaper. The dining hall swallowed him up, like a baby in the womb.
"Hey! Sergeant Ren!" The pimply faced waitress shot him a smile. His job was a joke in the family. One of theirs, a cop! His waitress cousin obviously enjoyed the humor.
"Uncle Frank in?"
"In the back."
He nodded and started back, face grave with thoughts of the business at hand. His uncle's office door lay ajar. The big man sat at a massive oak desk, pen in hand, going over accounting pages, checking off items as he went.
"Ren! Good to see you!" he said, hearing Ren's footstep and looking up.
"Uncle Frank!" The men hugged and Ren took a seat in a shiny leather chair facing his uncle. "I've got some bad news." He squirmed making the leather squeak.
"Ya look like hell! What's happening!"
"Uncle Frank, Ruben is dead."
"What!" The older man jumped out of the chair. "How?"
"Now, Uncle Frank. Take it easy and let me explain...He got himself killed." Uncle Frank lurched forward, but Ren held him back. "Now, listen," he said. "Let me handle this. I can bring his killer to 'justice.'"
"To hell you can! What are you saying? Pull the bastard into the court system and wait months to see him fucking get parole? Who did this? The sonofabitch needs to die!"
"Uncle Frank, I can handle this. Me and Ricco, we're handling it." Ren steadied the older man and led him back to his chair, easing him down. "Ruben was killed by a lunatic who beat the shit out of him and left him on the street. I don't think the guy even knew what he was doing. Lashed out at the closest thing within reach. There's not much satisfaction in killing someone who doesn't even know why."
Uncle Frank jumped out of the chair again. "I don't care! Who did this? Who is the sonofabitch who killed Ruben? You think I can't find out! I'll get the bastard yet! Now get outta here!”
word count: 465
Bud backed away then as though the gesture embarrassed him. A troubled frown crossed his face as he studied the other man.
"Look, Ren. I know your family is going to be on the warpath over this..."
"I know. I know...I'll keep them at bay. I want to see justice served just as much as you do."
Ha! Easier said than done. Later, he stood outside Malleo's Ristorante contemplating long and hard before finally opening the door and entering. Plush surroundings wrapped around him and pulled him in. It was warm, with soft light emanating from candles, one lit on each table, and tiny lamps along the walls. Thick red carpets felt spongy underfoot and huge Renaissance paintings in massive gilded frames peppered the walls against dark printed wallpaper. The dining hall swallowed him up, like a baby in the womb.
"Hey! Sergeant Ren!" The pimply faced waitress shot him a smile. His job was a joke in the family. One of theirs, a cop! His waitress cousin obviously enjoyed the humor.
"Uncle Frank in?"
"In the back."
He nodded and started back, face grave with thoughts of the business at hand. His uncle's office door lay ajar. The big man sat at a massive oak desk, pen in hand, going over accounting pages, checking off items as he went.
"Ren! Good to see you!" he said, hearing Ren's footstep and looking up.
"Uncle Frank!" The men hugged and Ren took a seat in a shiny leather chair facing his uncle. "I've got some bad news." He squirmed making the leather squeak.
"Ya look like hell! What's happening!"
"Uncle Frank, Ruben is dead."
"What!" The older man jumped out of the chair. "How?"
"Now, Uncle Frank. Take it easy and let me explain...He got himself killed." Uncle Frank lurched forward, but Ren held him back. "Now, listen," he said. "Let me handle this. I can bring his killer to 'justice.'"
"To hell you can! What are you saying? Pull the bastard into the court system and wait months to see him fucking get parole? Who did this? The sonofabitch needs to die!"
"Uncle Frank, I can handle this. Me and Ricco, we're handling it." Ren steadied the older man and led him back to his chair, easing him down. "Ruben was killed by a lunatic who beat the shit out of him and left him on the street. I don't think the guy even knew what he was doing. Lashed out at the closest thing within reach. There's not much satisfaction in killing someone who doesn't even know why."
Uncle Frank jumped out of the chair again. "I don't care! Who did this? Who is the sonofabitch who killed Ruben? You think I can't find out! I'll get the bastard yet! Now get outta here!”
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
chapter twenty five
chain fiction chapter 25
word count: 548
ricco salvatore had made the appropriate phone calls... the wheels of "justice" had been set in motion.. that malleo kid was a fuck up,, a stupid junky fuck up,, but he was "big wally" malleos son,, and the memory of big wally malleo was one that was not easily forgotten... he had been one of the good guys... ricco loved him like a father,, and in some ways,, in the family,, he was the only son that big wally ever really had....
his cell vibrated in his pocket,, he couldn't stand the sound of a phone ringing,, so his was forever on vibrate... "ricco".. he stated expressionlessly into the phone... he listened in silence to the voice on the other end of the line,, free from body language of any kind... finally he spoke..
"yep, that sounds like him.. follow him,, make sure,, if it is don't fuck him up too bad,, i wanna piece of that motherfucker myself..and i am sure his brother would like a little souvenir of his own.... if you take him down,, bring him to the garage.. and then call me...
he closed the phone and smiled... this was beginning to sound like it might be fun.....
bud kramer was still on scene.. the meat wagon had come for what they could scrape up of the body,, the evidence such as it was,, and it wasn't much,,, had been collected,, and the forensic photographers were probably well into developing the shots they had taken by the time warren "ren" malleo,, the victims brother,, as well as the desk sargent over at the third east division,, dropped in on the scene...
what had taken him so long?? was buds first thought,,, but then again,, he had never lost a brother,, he had never had to find out that his little brother was ground up and left for dead in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse and the prime suspect from all indicators was no where to be found..
no he had no idea how long it would take the cop in him to bounce back from news like that and show up on scene... he was hungry he was tired he was irritable... when he felt like this every one was suspect.
he also had no idea how many palms had to be greased,, how many fires had to be put out,, how many favors ren had to call,, in to keep "the family" to which he and his now dead junky brother were born into as the sons of big wally malleo from making a statement of their own,, and increasing the body count with no justice having ever been met out....
ren held out his hand.. bud grabbed ren instead and gave him a big hug,, "i am so sorry.." he said with a warmth and emotion even he didn't know he was capable of at this point in the game...
"thanks bud,,, ya know with ruben,, we always knew it would happen,,, we just had no way of knowing when or how... but now that it is actually here,, all of that knowing ain't for shit..."
together they watched the sun slip down behind the ware house,, they watched the crime scene tape blow in the wind,, and the blood,, all that was left of rens baby brother ruben,, disappear into the night...
word count: 548
ricco salvatore had made the appropriate phone calls... the wheels of "justice" had been set in motion.. that malleo kid was a fuck up,, a stupid junky fuck up,, but he was "big wally" malleos son,, and the memory of big wally malleo was one that was not easily forgotten... he had been one of the good guys... ricco loved him like a father,, and in some ways,, in the family,, he was the only son that big wally ever really had....
his cell vibrated in his pocket,, he couldn't stand the sound of a phone ringing,, so his was forever on vibrate... "ricco".. he stated expressionlessly into the phone... he listened in silence to the voice on the other end of the line,, free from body language of any kind... finally he spoke..
"yep, that sounds like him.. follow him,, make sure,, if it is don't fuck him up too bad,, i wanna piece of that motherfucker myself..and i am sure his brother would like a little souvenir of his own.... if you take him down,, bring him to the garage.. and then call me...
he closed the phone and smiled... this was beginning to sound like it might be fun.....
bud kramer was still on scene.. the meat wagon had come for what they could scrape up of the body,, the evidence such as it was,, and it wasn't much,,, had been collected,, and the forensic photographers were probably well into developing the shots they had taken by the time warren "ren" malleo,, the victims brother,, as well as the desk sargent over at the third east division,, dropped in on the scene...
what had taken him so long?? was buds first thought,,, but then again,, he had never lost a brother,, he had never had to find out that his little brother was ground up and left for dead in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse and the prime suspect from all indicators was no where to be found..
no he had no idea how long it would take the cop in him to bounce back from news like that and show up on scene... he was hungry he was tired he was irritable... when he felt like this every one was suspect.
he also had no idea how many palms had to be greased,, how many fires had to be put out,, how many favors ren had to call,, in to keep "the family" to which he and his now dead junky brother were born into as the sons of big wally malleo from making a statement of their own,, and increasing the body count with no justice having ever been met out....
ren held out his hand.. bud grabbed ren instead and gave him a big hug,, "i am so sorry.." he said with a warmth and emotion even he didn't know he was capable of at this point in the game...
"thanks bud,,, ya know with ruben,, we always knew it would happen,,, we just had no way of knowing when or how... but now that it is actually here,, all of that knowing ain't for shit..."
together they watched the sun slip down behind the ware house,, they watched the crime scene tape blow in the wind,, and the blood,, all that was left of rens baby brother ruben,, disappear into the night...
chapter twenty four
word count: 455
Stan pulled into a rest stop, the first one to come up after dumping the whore. His breaths came in uneven gasps. His hands trembled. Where could he go? He murdered two people. He abused a corpse. It was only a matter of time before they got him.
A cyclone whirled in his head, slamming emotions together in a tempestuous heap. The sum total being insanity. A cacophony of voices pulled him every which way. The logic of heading south of the border eluded him while the dynamics of hate took center stage. Hate for anyone who stood in his way. The whore, Vic, the guy who tailed him, even Jessica, whom he’d loved a little. And Bud Kramer.
Bud Kramer, the larger than life pain in the ass. Bud Kramer with his nose in the air, pushing people around, and now...chasing him; although if he was lucky, Bud didn’t yet know who he was chasing.
“Maybe it’s about time someone pushed Bud around,” Stan White murmured.
Vic flipped the remote like a madman, looking for the porn channel. A little something to amuse until Jorge came back with the whore. Kind of nice to lay low for a while.
A tap at the door and it opened. The girl’s face came through first. The outrage was explicit in her clenched teeth and glaring eyes. Vic’s eyes fixated on the cuffs on her wrists.
“Here she is,” Jorge said. He shot a knowing grin and closed the door, leaving the other two alone.
“Cuffed and ready!” Vic said, pulling his shirt off.
“I’m not doing nothin’ with you!”
“You’re thinking you have a choice? Get over here!”
She backed away instead. “You gonna pay me?”
“Pay you?”
“Yeah, I don’t do this shit for nothin’.”
‘Yeah, right.”
“Besides, I’ve had a bad day, you know? ...We’ve had a bad day. That guy got killed. I got abducted. You gotta cut me a break, right? ...or pay me big money in my sorrow!”
“Which reminds me, what the hell are doing wandering around out here in the middle of no place? Besides looking for tricks?”
“I’m not here looking for anything. That sonofabitch dumped me out of the car!”
“Hmmmph. Can’t say I blame him.” Vic remembered the bloody carnage of Ruben on the ground. His stomach lurched. He looked to the whore and saw a pained expression on her face. She looked up and her eyes met his. They were deep. He could tell, way down in there the devil was dancing for joy about her agony.
“Come here. I won’t hurt you,” he said opening his arms. “Not tonight anyway.”
Stan pulled into a rest stop, the first one to come up after dumping the whore. His breaths came in uneven gasps. His hands trembled. Where could he go? He murdered two people. He abused a corpse. It was only a matter of time before they got him.
A cyclone whirled in his head, slamming emotions together in a tempestuous heap. The sum total being insanity. A cacophony of voices pulled him every which way. The logic of heading south of the border eluded him while the dynamics of hate took center stage. Hate for anyone who stood in his way. The whore, Vic, the guy who tailed him, even Jessica, whom he’d loved a little. And Bud Kramer.
Bud Kramer, the larger than life pain in the ass. Bud Kramer with his nose in the air, pushing people around, and now...chasing him; although if he was lucky, Bud didn’t yet know who he was chasing.
“Maybe it’s about time someone pushed Bud around,” Stan White murmured.
Vic flipped the remote like a madman, looking for the porn channel. A little something to amuse until Jorge came back with the whore. Kind of nice to lay low for a while.
A tap at the door and it opened. The girl’s face came through first. The outrage was explicit in her clenched teeth and glaring eyes. Vic’s eyes fixated on the cuffs on her wrists.
“Here she is,” Jorge said. He shot a knowing grin and closed the door, leaving the other two alone.
“Cuffed and ready!” Vic said, pulling his shirt off.
“I’m not doing nothin’ with you!”
“You’re thinking you have a choice? Get over here!”
She backed away instead. “You gonna pay me?”
“Pay you?”
“Yeah, I don’t do this shit for nothin’.”
‘Yeah, right.”
“Besides, I’ve had a bad day, you know? ...We’ve had a bad day. That guy got killed. I got abducted. You gotta cut me a break, right? ...or pay me big money in my sorrow!”
“Which reminds me, what the hell are doing wandering around out here in the middle of no place? Besides looking for tricks?”
“I’m not here looking for anything. That sonofabitch dumped me out of the car!”
“Hmmmph. Can’t say I blame him.” Vic remembered the bloody carnage of Ruben on the ground. His stomach lurched. He looked to the whore and saw a pained expression on her face. She looked up and her eyes met his. They were deep. He could tell, way down in there the devil was dancing for joy about her agony.
“Come here. I won’t hurt you,” he said opening his arms. “Not tonight anyway.”
Monday, October 15, 2007
chapter twenty three
word count: 535
vic had made his way down river and was under the bridge where 47th ave crossed lewis,, he had paused only long enough to call jorge martinez,, and tell him to get his ass to the chevron he could see at the top of the embankment.. "yesterday..." that was 20 minutes ago... for the first time in a long time... vic felt very much not in control.. and he didn't like it...
he was at home here, riding high above the street, behind the wheel of this navigator, service revolver under the seat,,, proof he was in charge,, just a safety click away.. but standing here now,, cowering in the shadows of this piss soaked river bed,, even he knew he was painfully out of his element...
he walked far enough up the embankment to where he could see the chevron,, but was pretty sure no one could see him.. he stood there for what seemed like an eternity... finally he saw the battered old truck slip into the parking lot and come to an abrupt stop just short of the cage that surrounded the propane tank..
"martinez,, you are fucking god!!!!" vic boomed as he slammed the door and breathed for what seemed like the first time since he had stumbled upon rubens untimely demise... "wadda ya say we get a couple a beers?"
"usted es el jefe,, you're the boss man" jorge said... half thrilled at the prospect,, but hoping it didn't cut into his "cab fare" at the same time... after all time was money...
vic handed jorge a twenty, and watched him walk into the quick mart.. thank god he was scheduled off tomorrow,, he had time.. time in which he had no one to be accountable too.. time to think this thing thru... and most importantly time to let "ren" work his magic,, and make stan and that "ho" disappear..
jorge got him a room at one of the nondescript curry soaked motels along merideth,, and then took off with a crisp $50.00 in search of a suitable female companion,, someone vic could "unload" on....
vic kind of liked the idea of having a "runner". under different circumstances he could almost get used to this.... he laid back on the bed,, took the remote in one hand,, an ice cold corona in the other,, and began to imagine the paces he would have to put this little bitch thru to even come close to relieving the tension that had been building inside him all day....
jorge circled the block.. why is it there was never a decent looking "puta" when you needed one?? as he pulled into the alley to take a piss he saw something that didn't look too bad,, but she was making no attempt at eye contact,, so he couldn't be sure she was working.. thats how you tell them apart,, the "good girls" look straight a head or at the street,, the "bad" ones look at you...
"oye, mamacita, " he called over the dumpster as he relived himself against the already stained red brick wall...
as she turned to glare at him, he noticed something that made him sure this was his girl... she was handcuffed...
vic had made his way down river and was under the bridge where 47th ave crossed lewis,, he had paused only long enough to call jorge martinez,, and tell him to get his ass to the chevron he could see at the top of the embankment.. "yesterday..." that was 20 minutes ago... for the first time in a long time... vic felt very much not in control.. and he didn't like it...
he was at home here, riding high above the street, behind the wheel of this navigator, service revolver under the seat,,, proof he was in charge,, just a safety click away.. but standing here now,, cowering in the shadows of this piss soaked river bed,, even he knew he was painfully out of his element...
he walked far enough up the embankment to where he could see the chevron,, but was pretty sure no one could see him.. he stood there for what seemed like an eternity... finally he saw the battered old truck slip into the parking lot and come to an abrupt stop just short of the cage that surrounded the propane tank..
"martinez,, you are fucking god!!!!" vic boomed as he slammed the door and breathed for what seemed like the first time since he had stumbled upon rubens untimely demise... "wadda ya say we get a couple a beers?"
"usted es el jefe,, you're the boss man" jorge said... half thrilled at the prospect,, but hoping it didn't cut into his "cab fare" at the same time... after all time was money...
vic handed jorge a twenty, and watched him walk into the quick mart.. thank god he was scheduled off tomorrow,, he had time.. time in which he had no one to be accountable too.. time to think this thing thru... and most importantly time to let "ren" work his magic,, and make stan and that "ho" disappear..
jorge got him a room at one of the nondescript curry soaked motels along merideth,, and then took off with a crisp $50.00 in search of a suitable female companion,, someone vic could "unload" on....
vic kind of liked the idea of having a "runner". under different circumstances he could almost get used to this.... he laid back on the bed,, took the remote in one hand,, an ice cold corona in the other,, and began to imagine the paces he would have to put this little bitch thru to even come close to relieving the tension that had been building inside him all day....
jorge circled the block.. why is it there was never a decent looking "puta" when you needed one?? as he pulled into the alley to take a piss he saw something that didn't look too bad,, but she was making no attempt at eye contact,, so he couldn't be sure she was working.. thats how you tell them apart,, the "good girls" look straight a head or at the street,, the "bad" ones look at you...
"oye, mamacita, " he called over the dumpster as he relived himself against the already stained red brick wall...
as she turned to glare at him, he noticed something that made him sure this was his girl... she was handcuffed...
Sunday, October 14, 2007
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-two
word count: 521
Bud Kramer dropped his black bag to the ground and stood back to look at the body. The man had been beaten to death. Blood and raw tissue decorated the pavement in a Picasso of darkness. He checked his notes. Ruben Malleo, Sargent "Ren" Malleo's brother. Whoever did this would have hell to pay. Unless he could stop the carnage before it escalated.
Bud felt old. He thought of his beautiful wife waiting for him at home. Maybe it was time to retire.
Stan gunned it and headed for in the interstate. The road passed by like the elements of a dream while his mind played the same nightmare over and over.
"Where are you taking me?"
The voice broke in, obliterating the raucous thought process. He spied his hands on the wheel, caramelized with blood, trembling. The whore! He'd grabbed her and drove off. A saner mind slow-stepped to the surface. Christ! He'd really fucked up.
"Did you hear me? Where the hell are we going?" She leaned closer. "If you stop now and let me go. I'll walk away and I won't tell anyone. Please!"
He shot her a glance. Skinny, pathetic bitch! The anger rolled around again in his chest, smoldering, ready to erupt. "Shut up!"
Oh Christ! He'd killed two people, and it all started with that damned baby. The Medical Examiner, Bud Kramer, was probably hot on his tail. And Vic...was Vic out there gunning for him, too?
"You can't blame me for asking where you're taking me!" The bitch again.
"Look! I told you to shut up!"
"I'm not gonna shut up! You've got me cuffed and you're taking me somewhere. How the fuck can I shut up?"
"Look. I don't know where we're going. I'm in a shitload of trouble here."
The girl fidgeted. "These cuffs hurt. Would you take them off?"
"No."
The road passed by in more monotonous miles. Stan remembered when taking a drive used to be a pleasurable experience. Now the trip was a search to find a needle in the proverbial haystack...a safe haven in a world full of cops with an APB out on him.
"I'm hungry, man!" It was her again.
"Sorry, bitch! Can't help you. I'm on the run, remember!"
"I have to pee, too. Aren't you ever going to stop to pee?"
His knuckles got white, clutching the wheel too hard. "Will you shut the hell up?" he roared.
"Can't blame a person for being hungry or having to pee," she muttered.
A short silence, and she started again. "You could just let me out now. I'll take care of myself, and I won't tell anybody that you kidnapped me."
"I didn't fucking kidnap you!"
"Sure, you did, mother-fucker. Don't you think these cuffs make that pretty obvious." She lifted her wrists and jangled them.
God! Would she ever shut up? He swerved onto the side of the road and parked.
"Get out. Get the fuck out of my car." he said.
word count: 521
Bud Kramer dropped his black bag to the ground and stood back to look at the body. The man had been beaten to death. Blood and raw tissue decorated the pavement in a Picasso of darkness. He checked his notes. Ruben Malleo, Sargent "Ren" Malleo's brother. Whoever did this would have hell to pay. Unless he could stop the carnage before it escalated.
Bud felt old. He thought of his beautiful wife waiting for him at home. Maybe it was time to retire.
Stan gunned it and headed for in the interstate. The road passed by like the elements of a dream while his mind played the same nightmare over and over.
"Where are you taking me?"
The voice broke in, obliterating the raucous thought process. He spied his hands on the wheel, caramelized with blood, trembling. The whore! He'd grabbed her and drove off. A saner mind slow-stepped to the surface. Christ! He'd really fucked up.
"Did you hear me? Where the hell are we going?" She leaned closer. "If you stop now and let me go. I'll walk away and I won't tell anyone. Please!"
He shot her a glance. Skinny, pathetic bitch! The anger rolled around again in his chest, smoldering, ready to erupt. "Shut up!"
Oh Christ! He'd killed two people, and it all started with that damned baby. The Medical Examiner, Bud Kramer, was probably hot on his tail. And Vic...was Vic out there gunning for him, too?
"You can't blame me for asking where you're taking me!" The bitch again.
"Look! I told you to shut up!"
"I'm not gonna shut up! You've got me cuffed and you're taking me somewhere. How the fuck can I shut up?"
"Look. I don't know where we're going. I'm in a shitload of trouble here."
The girl fidgeted. "These cuffs hurt. Would you take them off?"
"No."
The road passed by in more monotonous miles. Stan remembered when taking a drive used to be a pleasurable experience. Now the trip was a search to find a needle in the proverbial haystack...a safe haven in a world full of cops with an APB out on him.
"I'm hungry, man!" It was her again.
"Sorry, bitch! Can't help you. I'm on the run, remember!"
"I have to pee, too. Aren't you ever going to stop to pee?"
His knuckles got white, clutching the wheel too hard. "Will you shut the hell up?" he roared.
"Can't blame a person for being hungry or having to pee," she muttered.
A short silence, and she started again. "You could just let me out now. I'll take care of myself, and I won't tell anybody that you kidnapped me."
"I didn't fucking kidnap you!"
"Sure, you did, mother-fucker. Don't you think these cuffs make that pretty obvious." She lifted her wrists and jangled them.
God! Would she ever shut up? He swerved onto the side of the road and parked.
"Get out. Get the fuck out of my car." he said.
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