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...
Monday, October 29, 2007
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.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
chapter twenty one
word count: 590
vic crouched behind the break wall on the rivers edge and listened as stan hit the gas in his navigator, like it owed him money... he pulled out his cell and hit speed dial...
"warren.. don't say anything just listen.. your brothers dead, stan white,, the guy i had him tailing killed him.. he took off in my truck with this hooker that is on the fringe of this whole thing... i need your help... i gotta find him before your brothers in blue.. my ass is on the line here... i need both of 'em, ren... both of 'em"
vic went on to give sargent warren "ren" vincent malleo,, third east division,, desk sargent,, and all around cop for the taking,, his license plate number,, and the direction he was headed in when he sped off... there was nothing for him to do here.. he had to get the hell out of here.. now...
sgt warren "ren" malleo had wanted to be a cop ever since he was a teen growing up on the lower east side.. his father being a made man in the yacovella family had let him see both sides of the action.. by the time he was old enough to make a career choice for himself,, most of his fathers compagni's were either dead or in jail,, but the cops he knew they had taken care of all these years,, seemed to be healthy,, happy,, and prospering nicely... he decided cop was definitely the way to go....
twenty two years into the game,, all he wanted was out.. he was so close.. to retirement,, to a full pension,, to easy street,, and a little place in ft lauderdale driving around in a golf cart...fuck... and now this...
ruben dead... junky or no he was blood.. you did not kill a malleo and just drive off .. fuck up that he was,, he was his little brother... blood for blood.. there was no other way... he excused himself from the dinner table,, and went to "his study" ... there surrounded by all the trappings of a bad cops job well done,, he dialed...
"ricco... ricco,, ren.. ricco,, my brother,, ruben,, yeah the fuck up.. hes dead.. hit... just now... over by the river... i know who did it..."
he filled ricco salvatore, his best friend and protector, in on everything he knew.. ricco gave his word.. it was done... ren hung up..
he flipped on the wide screen,, surfed.. paced.. did a shot or four of the old granddad he had in his bottom desk drawer.. he took his police issue 38 out of the lock box.. he loaded it.. he filled the pockets of his fishing vest with all the ammo he could carry.. he grabbed his tackle box,, his "ugly stick",, and informed his wife he had decided to drop a couple of lines before the sun set.. a quick peck on her too plump cheek,, and he was out the door....
"you fucked up, white.. you fucked up.. no one hits a malleo and lives.. and you my friend,, will not be the first....."
with that he slipped in behind the wheel of his GMC denali,, clicked her into reverse and eased out the drive and into the street... he slowed as the kids playing four square in the street moved out of his way.. he signaled a right turn,, followed the road patiently to the entrance ramp on the expressway... he merged,, and hit the outer lane. he was doing 110 before he passed the first mile marker....
vic crouched behind the break wall on the rivers edge and listened as stan hit the gas in his navigator, like it owed him money... he pulled out his cell and hit speed dial...
"warren.. don't say anything just listen.. your brothers dead, stan white,, the guy i had him tailing killed him.. he took off in my truck with this hooker that is on the fringe of this whole thing... i need your help... i gotta find him before your brothers in blue.. my ass is on the line here... i need both of 'em, ren... both of 'em"
vic went on to give sargent warren "ren" vincent malleo,, third east division,, desk sargent,, and all around cop for the taking,, his license plate number,, and the direction he was headed in when he sped off... there was nothing for him to do here.. he had to get the hell out of here.. now...
sgt warren "ren" malleo had wanted to be a cop ever since he was a teen growing up on the lower east side.. his father being a made man in the yacovella family had let him see both sides of the action.. by the time he was old enough to make a career choice for himself,, most of his fathers compagni's were either dead or in jail,, but the cops he knew they had taken care of all these years,, seemed to be healthy,, happy,, and prospering nicely... he decided cop was definitely the way to go....
twenty two years into the game,, all he wanted was out.. he was so close.. to retirement,, to a full pension,, to easy street,, and a little place in ft lauderdale driving around in a golf cart...fuck... and now this...
ruben dead... junky or no he was blood.. you did not kill a malleo and just drive off .. fuck up that he was,, he was his little brother... blood for blood.. there was no other way... he excused himself from the dinner table,, and went to "his study" ... there surrounded by all the trappings of a bad cops job well done,, he dialed...
"ricco... ricco,, ren.. ricco,, my brother,, ruben,, yeah the fuck up.. hes dead.. hit... just now... over by the river... i know who did it..."
he filled ricco salvatore, his best friend and protector, in on everything he knew.. ricco gave his word.. it was done... ren hung up..
he flipped on the wide screen,, surfed.. paced.. did a shot or four of the old granddad he had in his bottom desk drawer.. he took his police issue 38 out of the lock box.. he loaded it.. he filled the pockets of his fishing vest with all the ammo he could carry.. he grabbed his tackle box,, his "ugly stick",, and informed his wife he had decided to drop a couple of lines before the sun set.. a quick peck on her too plump cheek,, and he was out the door....
"you fucked up, white.. you fucked up.. no one hits a malleo and lives.. and you my friend,, will not be the first....."
with that he slipped in behind the wheel of his GMC denali,, clicked her into reverse and eased out the drive and into the street... he slowed as the kids playing four square in the street moved out of his way.. he signaled a right turn,, followed the road patiently to the entrance ramp on the expressway... he merged,, and hit the outer lane. he was doing 110 before he passed the first mile marker....
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
chapter twenty
word count: 488
"So who is he, Vic? Huh? Who is he? Someone you sent to tail me?" Stan grabbed the other man by the collar and shook him with a deadly violence.
Vic struggled to keep his footing. "Stan, take it easy. Let's talk, man! I think Ruben there is dead."
"I killed him. I oughta kill you, too." Stan's breath came in quick heaves, his eyes darting like bullets. He saw her. Jessa, in the car. His eyes lingered. He licked his lips hungrily before returning his attention to his beleaguered friend. "You son of a bitch, you had me tailed. What for, Vic? Do I make you afraid?"
He shoved the other man and sent him flying. Vic faltered, glared at Stan, then ran. His shirt billowing behind his heaving chest as he disappeared around the corner.
He was gone. Jessa cracked the window and called after him. "Vic, come back! What are you doing? Baby, come back! I'll do whatever you want!" Falling back in the seat in dismay, she turned to see Stan glaring at her from the driver side.
"Open the door, bitch!" He pounded his big fist on the window. Blood from his murderous hands smeared across the glass in abstract streaks and puddles. "Let me in!" he roared. His eyes blazed with a lethal combination of hunger and outrage.
Jessa froze. Her limbs refused to move, her voice gobbled up by a ghostly fear that had overtaken her. He was insane. He'd probably kill her. She remembered the revolver. It still lay, cold and hard in her grasp. She could shoot him, kill him. But Vic told her the windows were bullet proof. She'd have to get out of the car or open the window to shoot.
"Open up!" He was pounding so hard anything not nailed down was rattling. The car vibrated with every pound. She'd kill him. She'd have to kill him.
Her trembling hand struggled to find the door handle, pulling at it with energy beyond her will, like the hand had a mind of its own. She slipped out and turned to face him, resting her hands on the roof of the car, cupped and holding the gun. He stared back, eyes rigid, a small line of spit rolling from the corner of his mouth in slow motion down the concave of his chin.
It was a flash, and he was on her, wrestling the gun away. He held her in a choke hold while with the other hand he snatched the revolver. With a jerk, he popped it open.
"Ha! Empty! No bullets!" He tightened his arm against her neck. "You're not much of a hero, bitch!" Reaching behind, he pulled a set of cuffs from the back of his uniform belt and with a flawless maneuver clipped them across her wrists. "We're going for a little ride, baby!"
"So who is he, Vic? Huh? Who is he? Someone you sent to tail me?" Stan grabbed the other man by the collar and shook him with a deadly violence.
Vic struggled to keep his footing. "Stan, take it easy. Let's talk, man! I think Ruben there is dead."
"I killed him. I oughta kill you, too." Stan's breath came in quick heaves, his eyes darting like bullets. He saw her. Jessa, in the car. His eyes lingered. He licked his lips hungrily before returning his attention to his beleaguered friend. "You son of a bitch, you had me tailed. What for, Vic? Do I make you afraid?"
He shoved the other man and sent him flying. Vic faltered, glared at Stan, then ran. His shirt billowing behind his heaving chest as he disappeared around the corner.
He was gone. Jessa cracked the window and called after him. "Vic, come back! What are you doing? Baby, come back! I'll do whatever you want!" Falling back in the seat in dismay, she turned to see Stan glaring at her from the driver side.
"Open the door, bitch!" He pounded his big fist on the window. Blood from his murderous hands smeared across the glass in abstract streaks and puddles. "Let me in!" he roared. His eyes blazed with a lethal combination of hunger and outrage.
Jessa froze. Her limbs refused to move, her voice gobbled up by a ghostly fear that had overtaken her. He was insane. He'd probably kill her. She remembered the revolver. It still lay, cold and hard in her grasp. She could shoot him, kill him. But Vic told her the windows were bullet proof. She'd have to get out of the car or open the window to shoot.
"Open up!" He was pounding so hard anything not nailed down was rattling. The car vibrated with every pound. She'd kill him. She'd have to kill him.
Her trembling hand struggled to find the door handle, pulling at it with energy beyond her will, like the hand had a mind of its own. She slipped out and turned to face him, resting her hands on the roof of the car, cupped and holding the gun. He stared back, eyes rigid, a small line of spit rolling from the corner of his mouth in slow motion down the concave of his chin.
It was a flash, and he was on her, wrestling the gun away. He held her in a choke hold while with the other hand he snatched the revolver. With a jerk, he popped it open.
"Ha! Empty! No bullets!" He tightened his arm against her neck. "You're not much of a hero, bitch!" Reaching behind, he pulled a set of cuffs from the back of his uniform belt and with a flawless maneuver clipped them across her wrists. "We're going for a little ride, baby!"
Saturday, October 6, 2007
chapter nineteen
word count: 615
as jessa waited on the number 22 bus just outside of the doc,, one of her regulars spotted her and offered her a ride,, and sure enough he was lookin' for a date... imagine that... kinky little bastard,, he even bought her under ware for an extra $50.00... freaks.. gotta love it...
in an hour she was back on the street in her own little section of the hood had she had a fifty in her pocket, and a nice size rock under her tongue.... life was good..
she had noticed the black navigator pass her twice and turn around again,, she knew he was circling... she hoped it wasn't any one she knew.. she really just wanted to get off the street...
as it slowed next to her,, the window came down and she recognized vic di marco right off... before he could open his mouth,, she barked, "what the hell do you want??"
"you know what i want baby.. i been wanting me some of that all day...." he gave her that smile he had been told would melt the iceberg that sunk the titanic... "c'mon,, hop in we can ride an talk about it....."
what the hell she thought,, it wouldn't hurt nothin' to see what he had in mind..... worse case scenario she would get her to take her the rest of the way to her room....
"well since i already know your a cop we'll cut to the chase here... what did you have in mind officer???"
"first of all,, call me vic... and second,," he said as he undid his zipper and eased himself out of his loose fitting blue jeans...
"you need to be whippin' out some cash here honey... time is money and you are wasting mine..." jessa spat matter of factly at him...
he reached up into the visor and produced a folded bill,, he handed it to her.. she opened it,, cool another fifty... why couldn't every day be like today?? she thought to herself as she folded the rock she had hiding under her tongue into the bill and stuffed the whole package safely in her bra.. she situated herself on the seat facing him.. time to get down to business...
she felt him make a left,, and knew he had turned into an empty lot, abandoned by an old factory years ago along the river's edge.
she felt him go tense,, just after he made the turn.. his foot hit the gas full force,, she flew off the seat and slamming against the dash and on to the floor like a pinball.. "what the fuck are you doing??" she yelled...
"stay down!! stay down!!" vic yelled back at her,, as he struggled to drive with one hand and shove himself back in his pants with the other... whatever it was,, she could tell it had nothing to do with her.. he sped across the lot and slammed to a stop.. the door was open and he was on the pavement before the truck came top a complete stop...
"jesus christ stan!!! what the fuck have you done??? what the fuck have you done????" he was screaming at someone,, she had no idea who..
she peeked gingerly over the dash,, and there she saw it,, a body head beaten to a bloody pulp.. a guy,, she assumed was "stan" full of blood and brains and god knows what else.. pacing like a mad man...
she slipped back to the floor,, trying to make her self as small and invisible as possible.. it was then that she noticed the service revolver holstered under the seat.. she grabbed it.. she didn't know much about guns,, but it looked like it was loaded... please god,, let it be loaded.....
as jessa waited on the number 22 bus just outside of the doc,, one of her regulars spotted her and offered her a ride,, and sure enough he was lookin' for a date... imagine that... kinky little bastard,, he even bought her under ware for an extra $50.00... freaks.. gotta love it...
in an hour she was back on the street in her own little section of the hood had she had a fifty in her pocket, and a nice size rock under her tongue.... life was good..
she had noticed the black navigator pass her twice and turn around again,, she knew he was circling... she hoped it wasn't any one she knew.. she really just wanted to get off the street...
as it slowed next to her,, the window came down and she recognized vic di marco right off... before he could open his mouth,, she barked, "what the hell do you want??"
"you know what i want baby.. i been wanting me some of that all day...." he gave her that smile he had been told would melt the iceberg that sunk the titanic... "c'mon,, hop in we can ride an talk about it....."
what the hell she thought,, it wouldn't hurt nothin' to see what he had in mind..... worse case scenario she would get her to take her the rest of the way to her room....
"well since i already know your a cop we'll cut to the chase here... what did you have in mind officer???"
"first of all,, call me vic... and second,," he said as he undid his zipper and eased himself out of his loose fitting blue jeans...
"you need to be whippin' out some cash here honey... time is money and you are wasting mine..." jessa spat matter of factly at him...
he reached up into the visor and produced a folded bill,, he handed it to her.. she opened it,, cool another fifty... why couldn't every day be like today?? she thought to herself as she folded the rock she had hiding under her tongue into the bill and stuffed the whole package safely in her bra.. she situated herself on the seat facing him.. time to get down to business...
she felt him make a left,, and knew he had turned into an empty lot, abandoned by an old factory years ago along the river's edge.
she felt him go tense,, just after he made the turn.. his foot hit the gas full force,, she flew off the seat and slamming against the dash and on to the floor like a pinball.. "what the fuck are you doing??" she yelled...
"stay down!! stay down!!" vic yelled back at her,, as he struggled to drive with one hand and shove himself back in his pants with the other... whatever it was,, she could tell it had nothing to do with her.. he sped across the lot and slammed to a stop.. the door was open and he was on the pavement before the truck came top a complete stop...
"jesus christ stan!!! what the fuck have you done??? what the fuck have you done????" he was screaming at someone,, she had no idea who..
she peeked gingerly over the dash,, and there she saw it,, a body head beaten to a bloody pulp.. a guy,, she assumed was "stan" full of blood and brains and god knows what else.. pacing like a mad man...
she slipped back to the floor,, trying to make her self as small and invisible as possible.. it was then that she noticed the service revolver holstered under the seat.. she grabbed it.. she didn't know much about guns,, but it looked like it was loaded... please god,, let it be loaded.....
chapter eighteen
word count: 533
Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his heart pumped like a rock concert, guitars about to be smashed in a blazing finale. Tears ran down his cheeks in rivulets of pain. Stan clutched the steering wheel and hit the gas, swerving through lines of traffic like a madman, zigzagging from lane to lane.
He wanted to be free, free of this whole mess. The baby, Jessica. All this because he wanted a good lay once in a while. He couldn't help it, could use some right now, calm him down. He could high tail it up to the "hill" and get one of those black whores. Shiny black skin, and they were never skinny. Well, the hardcore junkies were, but he'd pick a good one. Girls hanging out of windows, "Ten dollars, come on in!" Blow jobs were cheaper. Ha! Poor man's sex. He could hear the chorus of eager voices right now in his head. He went there all the time, before he met Jessica. Then she became a free piece and closer to home. A movement in the rear view jarred him back to reality. A black dot of a car turning the corner with him. He was positive he first saw that black saturn blocks ago. He was being tailed. He gunned it.
The black car weaved in and out of traffic following his same pattern, slower and with more ease, at a distance, but it mimicked his every move. What the hell? Was it a cop? Had they fingered him in Jessica's murder? Impossible. He'd dumped the car. DNA! A cold blade of fear stabbed him. NO, wait, He was clean. They didn't have any samples. He'd never been booked.
"Stay calm," he whispered. "We can deal with this." He turned down an alley and watched to see if the car followed. It did. Driving slowly down cobblestone streets, honking to clear ghetto kids playing, he watched the black saturn a couple blocks behind following his lead. The road finally broke free of neighborhood streets and led to an empty lot, abandoned by an old factory years ago along the river's edge. He jumped out of his car and stood to meet the other man. He waited. The saturn had paused at the edge of the lot. He spied the guy behind the wheel of the saturn, a guy, fierce looking, a force to be reckoned with. Didn't matter. He was pumped. Ready for anything.
The other guy looked at him from the safety of his car, then with frantic movements started a retreat. Stan would have none of it. Racing to the car, he grabbed hold of the driver side door and yanked it open. The startled driver hit the gas, but he wasn't fast enough. Stan dragged him out and threw him to the ground. He kicked him. He pounded his foot into the guy's head til blood ran onto the street. Stan couldn't hear his screams, wails of protest that echoed through the empty lot. The voices in his own head were louder. "Kill him. Kill him before he kills you."
Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his heart pumped like a rock concert, guitars about to be smashed in a blazing finale. Tears ran down his cheeks in rivulets of pain. Stan clutched the steering wheel and hit the gas, swerving through lines of traffic like a madman, zigzagging from lane to lane.
He wanted to be free, free of this whole mess. The baby, Jessica. All this because he wanted a good lay once in a while. He couldn't help it, could use some right now, calm him down. He could high tail it up to the "hill" and get one of those black whores. Shiny black skin, and they were never skinny. Well, the hardcore junkies were, but he'd pick a good one. Girls hanging out of windows, "Ten dollars, come on in!" Blow jobs were cheaper. Ha! Poor man's sex. He could hear the chorus of eager voices right now in his head. He went there all the time, before he met Jessica. Then she became a free piece and closer to home. A movement in the rear view jarred him back to reality. A black dot of a car turning the corner with him. He was positive he first saw that black saturn blocks ago. He was being tailed. He gunned it.
The black car weaved in and out of traffic following his same pattern, slower and with more ease, at a distance, but it mimicked his every move. What the hell? Was it a cop? Had they fingered him in Jessica's murder? Impossible. He'd dumped the car. DNA! A cold blade of fear stabbed him. NO, wait, He was clean. They didn't have any samples. He'd never been booked.
"Stay calm," he whispered. "We can deal with this." He turned down an alley and watched to see if the car followed. It did. Driving slowly down cobblestone streets, honking to clear ghetto kids playing, he watched the black saturn a couple blocks behind following his lead. The road finally broke free of neighborhood streets and led to an empty lot, abandoned by an old factory years ago along the river's edge. He jumped out of his car and stood to meet the other man. He waited. The saturn had paused at the edge of the lot. He spied the guy behind the wheel of the saturn, a guy, fierce looking, a force to be reckoned with. Didn't matter. He was pumped. Ready for anything.
The other guy looked at him from the safety of his car, then with frantic movements started a retreat. Stan would have none of it. Racing to the car, he grabbed hold of the driver side door and yanked it open. The startled driver hit the gas, but he wasn't fast enough. Stan dragged him out and threw him to the ground. He kicked him. He pounded his foot into the guy's head til blood ran onto the street. Stan couldn't hear his screams, wails of protest that echoed through the empty lot. The voices in his own head were louder. "Kill him. Kill him before he kills you."
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
chapter seventeen
word count: 522
vic left off talking to stan with a distinctly bad feeling... this guy was going over the edge and he was going fast.. he wanted to keep an eye on him,, but from afar,, and he knew just the man to help him do that.... he jumped into the seat of his black navigator,, he punched the speed dial on his cell....
"ruben,, ruben,, i been thinkin'.." he sung into the phone.......
"yeah you fuck head i know you hate it why do you think i do it???"
"whats up man??"
"well i got something for you..."
"something i need you to get right on..."
"yeah,, the scale is still the same..."
"i'll call over to dom and you can go right over and pick it up...."
"and don't be bringing any of your bug eyed junky friends with you.. go alone.. i'm fucking serious here ,, you know how dom is.. he hates to be seen with fucking people like you..."
"consider it done,, my brother.. now heres what i have in mind....."
he proceeded to explain that he needed stan tailed,, he needed to know every thing,, and that meant everything that he was up to every moment of every hour he was not in the doc building... he knew he could depend on ruben,, not only had he used him before,, but he paid him in clean uncut crystal,, and that shit would keep an elephant at attention for days...
"hold on, man... hold on..."
what the fuck?? vic saw stan getting in a car he had never seen before,, a newer honda,, dark blue.. who the hecks car was that?? and where was stans?? he wheeled out of his parking space and went back to talking to ruben...
"take this down.. get a frikkin pen!! right it on your hand,, you asshole!!! xerox-zebra -charles- 5-4-5 - delta ... blue honda civic,, newer like maybe an 06.... he is in that car.. who's it is i don't know.. why he has it i wanna know... call your brother and have him run this for me,, and then you my friend climb up his ass and stay there till i tell you different...." he clicked the face of the phone closed,, ruben still whining in the background....
there.. for the time being he would wait to hear back from ruben.. he had tastier fish to fry...
he had been thinking about that little junky girlfriend of alexanders all day... yeah.. all work and no play makes vic di marco, one horny fucker... he turned left at vine and headed toward the 'hood... that nasty little ho could probably suck the chrome off a trailer hitch... and man did he ever have a metal coated knob for her in his hand right now....
something about seeing stan doin' the dirty with that skinny little kitchen wench hadn't let his pal "joey" here rest all day... and since he wanted to find out exactly what this jessa knew about what was going on in the confines of the doc.... why not just kill two birds with one stone...
he grabbed himself and held on tight...
"little crack head whore,," he thought to himself.... "i got your rock right here,, baby..."
vic left off talking to stan with a distinctly bad feeling... this guy was going over the edge and he was going fast.. he wanted to keep an eye on him,, but from afar,, and he knew just the man to help him do that.... he jumped into the seat of his black navigator,, he punched the speed dial on his cell....
"ruben,, ruben,, i been thinkin'.." he sung into the phone.......
"yeah you fuck head i know you hate it why do you think i do it???"
"whats up man??"
"well i got something for you..."
"something i need you to get right on..."
"yeah,, the scale is still the same..."
"i'll call over to dom and you can go right over and pick it up...."
"and don't be bringing any of your bug eyed junky friends with you.. go alone.. i'm fucking serious here ,, you know how dom is.. he hates to be seen with fucking people like you..."
"consider it done,, my brother.. now heres what i have in mind....."
he proceeded to explain that he needed stan tailed,, he needed to know every thing,, and that meant everything that he was up to every moment of every hour he was not in the doc building... he knew he could depend on ruben,, not only had he used him before,, but he paid him in clean uncut crystal,, and that shit would keep an elephant at attention for days...
"hold on, man... hold on..."
what the fuck?? vic saw stan getting in a car he had never seen before,, a newer honda,, dark blue.. who the hecks car was that?? and where was stans?? he wheeled out of his parking space and went back to talking to ruben...
"take this down.. get a frikkin pen!! right it on your hand,, you asshole!!! xerox-zebra -charles- 5-4-5 - delta ... blue honda civic,, newer like maybe an 06.... he is in that car.. who's it is i don't know.. why he has it i wanna know... call your brother and have him run this for me,, and then you my friend climb up his ass and stay there till i tell you different...." he clicked the face of the phone closed,, ruben still whining in the background....
there.. for the time being he would wait to hear back from ruben.. he had tastier fish to fry...
he had been thinking about that little junky girlfriend of alexanders all day... yeah.. all work and no play makes vic di marco, one horny fucker... he turned left at vine and headed toward the 'hood... that nasty little ho could probably suck the chrome off a trailer hitch... and man did he ever have a metal coated knob for her in his hand right now....
something about seeing stan doin' the dirty with that skinny little kitchen wench hadn't let his pal "joey" here rest all day... and since he wanted to find out exactly what this jessa knew about what was going on in the confines of the doc.... why not just kill two birds with one stone...
he grabbed himself and held on tight...
"little crack head whore,," he thought to himself.... "i got your rock right here,, baby..."
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