Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I check my phone for a brief moment.
In this life, little distractions can be deadly. I know that. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten on the slack side, it seems.
Blam!
The windshield suddenly explodes into a million pieces of safety glass, through which comes a man the size and temperament of a bear. Someone just put a hammer through my car’s windscreen, and is now trying to put a hammer through my skull.
It has been a very long time since I was attacked quite so brutally. It’s quite exciting. Three very large, heavily tattooed men are attacking my car with the ferocity of wild beasts.
They will tear me apart if they can. I can feel their feral rage, a kind of righteous and primal energy that is directed at me and wishes only for my end.
I shove open the driver’s side door and roll out into the street, only to find myself grabbed by a big pair of meaty hands that throw me back into the car and punch me hard enough in the gut that for a moment being able to breathe is a distant memory.
I drop to the ground, and two steel-capped boots start making short work of my ribs until I can rouse myself and throw a punch. It lands more effectively than they imagined it would, catching one animal off-guard and sending him lurching back into unconsciousness.
“Two against one now, boys,” I spit.
It takes me a while to see faces, and even when I do, they’re blurry. One of my eyes is closed from a blow, and the other eye is watering heavily for a similar reason. When you fight for your life, you see body parts, not people. I grab the hammer and sling it away, bringing the fight to a far more equal level.
The other two lay into me together, and without a weapon, or doing something so feral I’d have their flesh in my stomach before we were done, the fight ends to their satisfaction as I appear to surrender.
“Don’t kill him,” the man on the left says. I recognize his voice, but I can’t place it right away.
“You leave my girl the fuck alone, or we kill you. And we do it slow.”
With that, the behemoth turns and lumbers into the night.
“I’m inclined to believe him,” I say.
“You better fucking believe him,” the remaining man says. “Do you know who he fucking is?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I reply, squeaking out the words slightly due to what have to be numerous broken ribs.
“That’s Johnny Four Fingers,” the brute says.
I do know that name. The mafia, such as it is, doesn’t exist the same way it did in the eighties. But there are still pockets of highly organized crime, and Johnny Four Fingers is a kind of urban legend from California to New York.
Laura’s stepfather is an underground monster.
I am given one last swift kick, and then I am left to my shattered car and broken body.
I have never felt more alive.
“You should be dead,” Dr. Black says, his tone heavy with judgment. “You’ve got bits of rib floating and two punctured lungs. Fortunately your body is compensating because one of the punctures is small enough to allow some use of the lung, but one more kick or punch and it would have been over for you. You’re too old to be street fighting, Samuel.”
He is in the process of cutting off my jacket as he lectures me. As the jacket comes off, my shoulder holster becomes visible, along with the weapon in it. The doctor becomes outright incredulous at this point.
“You had a gun the whole time? You let yourself be beaten up half to death while you had a gun?”
“I didn’t want to alert them to who I am. They needed to think they’d run me off. So I let them think that.”
The expression on the doc’s face is one of horror mixed with a very reluctant admiration.
“I hope it was worth it.”
“It was. I know where Laura is now.”
“And where is she?”
“She’s with Johnny Four Fingers.”
Dr. Black lets out a long sigh. “Might be time to let this one go, boss. That’s not a fight you’re going to win.”
He has to know that saying that is only going to spur me on. All these years, all these people who know me as well as anybody can, and they still think I don’t know what I’m doing.
CHAPTER 16
Laura
I’m up early. Five a.m. It’s the best time to get breakfast without getting in the way or answering any questions about why I’ve been hanging around the house for so long.
John comes in wearing his hi-vis. Mom packed him a big lunch last night, which will go in the chiller in his truck. He’s heading out for a while, I’d say. A few days at least.
“Hey,” he grunts at me while pouring himself a gallon of coffee.