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...
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