Chapter One

Enjoy a sample from my Novel.



Part One

Stranger


1

You know the look the bad guy has on his face when he’s at his baddest? When he’s got his gun cocked, his situation in hand, and his ill-gotten gains in sight? When he’s harnessed all the electricity coursing from his victim’s defeated expression and the urban swamp surrounding them, a feral grin rises up his face, and he knows the world could crumble within his closing fist? He’s the villain and he’ll prevail in the moment to follow. Roy was in that moment. He had that look. His ravenous smile reflected the street-lamp ambiance and twisted a star-shaped twinkle of light at the end of his gun barrel.

Roy was the bad guy.

Roy was comfortable in his place as the adversary. An outlaw sees the wrong in his actions justified as a virtue of self-preservation. An outlaw sees his victims as guilty of poor judgment and bad luck. He rides in the night, he lives by his code, he takes no prisoners, he robs from the rich and gives to himself. He fears a fair fight, he preys on the good-natured, he disrespects life.

Roy abused life. Life would soon return the favor.

Roy’s work, or his ‘finds’ as he called them, were most fitting under the shroud of night. Under the flickering streetlights, a floodlit billboard brandishing a car he’d never own, and a haze of dank and distant screeches he felt nocturnal and placed enviably on the food chain. Immediate and infinite power over another was briefly his during his moments; a refreshing numbness from a life otherwise tinted in under-achievement. His goal wasn’t to hurt people exactly, though he did enjoy the rush of violation. That hopeless look of surrender when a victim relinquishes valuables of sometimes-immeasurable worth was an addictive feeling of supremacy for someone with little to be proud of.

Through some inherent instinct he knew the tricks that made his presence and interaction during an ‘encounter’ most effective. He knew how to present the facts to his hapless subjects. He made his intentions clear and kept their options hazy. Roy’s method had a set of rules. No theatrics, the last thing a petty thief needs is a recognizable style. No credit cards or traceable valuables, the second last thing he needs is to leave a trail. No quick movements or grabbing, this leads to panic, fear is useful, panic only slows things down. Don’t make it personal; people are more likely to fight back in the face of an insult. And finally, no standoffs, Roy knew his place was as an outlaw and not a cowboy. His rules had served him well over the tenure of his short career. At twenty-one and over seven years in the fray he had yet to be convicted on a felony charge. This badge perched itself somewhere at the top of his most cherished accomplishments, somewhere around the loss of his virginity.

Across the street and down about a block, an elderly woman hunched her way across the circles of light from the street lamps. She was walking alone, returning from getting milk she wished she didn’t have to get.

She scurried up the street toward him without getting anywhere that quickly. She would be Roy’s first lamb of the evening. Her head was positioned downward so that she could see where she was going while avoiding all eye contact. She saw Roy coming, though she didn’t want to.

“Step over there.” Roy was a master of the approach. He always did it slow, he made sure his victims saw him coming. Pouncing leads to screaming. He also was careful never to grab, but to order with his best impersonation of his authoritarian father to step aside with him, again to avoid screaming. The lady reared in shock, though she wasn’t surprised. Her eyes bulged wide as though they were gasping in her oxygen during the seizure of panic. The eyes were the first payoff of the outlaw rush.

“You see the gun. Let’s not make me have to use it.
Keep your mouth shut and you’ll live.”

Roy brought his face in close to hers, still careful not to touch. He let his stale, nicotine halitosis pour onto her face. The lady wept and whimpered an entire unintelligible monologue as she scrambled about for her meager valuables. The whimpering loss of composure was payoff number two. It can be infinitely pleasurable to hear someone babble pleas they certainly never thought they’d utter.
Roy had heard better.

The moment of truth happens the second the thief can see surrender in the eyes of his victim. The moment they decide not to take the risk, but to relinquish their earthly possessions in favor of their irreplaceable ones; the moment they reach for the goods. The deflated old lady let out a long, labored breath and opened her worn out old handbag.
Roy licked his chops.

The third payoff arrives with the ‘booty’. It’s not the goods themselves, but the anticipation, like an unopened Christmas gift, that immaculate feeling of wonder immediately before beautifully wrapped bows and ribbons are torn asunder. Roy loved wondering what was going to emerge from those purses. As he prepared his face for thankless and evil, his brain spun and scrambled as his expression contorted into disbelief.
“Who the fu…”

His new expression followed his head as he leaned back slightly, the jolt still moving through him at the sight of an unwelcome presence. Without noticing a change in the lady’s face, Roy watched an arm slowly drop between them. It was a space that had never before been invaded. The novelty of the situation stunned Roy momentarily.

Roy’s control returned as a torso soon followed the intruding arm and his eyes met the eyes that had destroyed his moment of truth. Though they weren’t captivating eyes, Roy’s anger and disbelief captivated him.

“You should leave now Ma’am,” was said to his victim, while the eyes remained attached to his. She made an attempt at gratitude with a nod and stutter. She quickly turned and scuttled away. This transgression released Roy from his captivation, and gave his immediate role a new focus.

“You just got into one large fucking problem.” To control himself and the situation, Roy had reverted to an autopilot mode, directed by everything his pop-culture sensibilities told him to be, fuelled by the intimidation he didn’t find in the eyes before him.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” The words and the calm demeanor in which they were delivered impressed Roy even less. They did, however, define his role as the antagonist with greater detail. “I’m here to stop you.”

“Stop me from what?”

“From hurting people.”

“Oh yeah?” Roy had taken a step back as their words exchanged. The figure before him had yet to instill any level of intimidation, except the initial shock of his entrance. Nothing about the man with the bravery to stand in front of his gun was particularly impressive. His shoulders were somewhat narrow beneath his well-worn wool coat. The features Roy could make out were soft and forgettable. He was adorned with no badge and brandished no gun of his own.

This was no hero.

“What if I don’t want to be stopped? What if I take the cash from that bitch’s purse out off your ass? I’ve got the gun, so I’ll worry about who’s getting hurt tonight.” Roy’s discipline had been replaced by bravado. He had lowered his gun briefly as he stepped back from the intruder in disgust, but now the gun was back up, setting a new tone for the discussion.

It was now that Roy had found that bad guy look. This situation, this guy, his things and his life were Roy’s for the taking. The skin between his eyes and his temples wrinkled over his smile. His fangs glittered despite the lack of light. “What do you think of that, hero?” No response. Roy was breaking his rules.
With a rodent’s agility, Roy lunged at his opponent. He was slightly outsized by the stranger, but he felt inflated with his weapon in hand. He dropped a blow to the stranger’s forehead using the butt of his gun with all of his force and quickly followed with a second. Roy’s eyes widened and blazed with excitement, bloodlust and rage as his blows landed, until an icy shock burst them wider. Just as Roy envisioned his victory he felt one hand grip his coat and another wrap around his neck like cold metal.

Roy was thrown to the ground like a rambunctious child. He was thrown with a force that shocked him momentarily. He fumbled for the gun that had landed a couple of feet to his right, while the stranger still calmly stood over him. With victory soon back in his grasp, Roy let out an inaudible nasal giggle and raised his gun at his enemy. He didn’t get the pleading payoff he now sought as a different kind of outlaw. His fangs reemerged as a feral instinct born of his urban justice prepared him for his first homicidal act.

“Fuck you hero! You’re gonna die!” The stranger’s face remained still and uninspired. Roy pulled the trigger.

Shooting the stranger didn’t turn out the way Roy thought it would. Shooting a person rarely turns out the way it’s supposed to. Though a person may become accustomed to death, homicide never becomes natural to human eyes. Pulling the trigger seemed natural to Roy. The tiny explosion that preceded the bullet was part of what Roy expected, as was the forceful kick that jolted his hand. He was prepared for a moment of reciprocal emotional shock from his murderous act. But nothing seemed natural after that. Shooting the stranger didn’t go as Roy had planned. The bastard didn’t fall.

Roy’s disbelieving gasp formed into a primal scream. His scream and the explosion of his gun shattered the living darkness that covered them, as he released two more quick shots at the man before him. A fourth, fifth, and sixth soon followed with a scream that escalated from primal to panic. All he could recognize from his landing bullets were the slight twitches from the force of the bullets against the man’s torso. Roy’s eyes bulged to a new diameter as he saw the slugs from his bullets dropping to the sidewalk beneath.

The sound of Roy’s panic had reached a whistling pitch when sharply it halted as the stranger advanced on him like the creature from a classic horror movie.
Pitching the empty pistol aside, Roy scrambled and scrambled and scrambled to his unresponsive feet. Just as his foot got its first good hold of some asphalt, the vice-like metallic grip got a hold of his leather coat at the collar. Again like an unruly child, Roy was manhandled into the nearest alley.

“What the fuck are you? You ain’t got no vest on! I shot you, man, I shot you. How can you… still be standing. Those damn bullets just bounced…” The sentence trailed off as Roy was thrown into a gritty brick wall and the wind was knocked from him. One of the jagged bricks caught him above the eye. Roy could feel a single drop of warm blood rolling past his eye down the side of his face, as his mind madly tried to produce for him a bargaining chip. After a couple of squirmings, Roy knew he had no way out. His shoulders dropped as defeat overcame him.

“Okay man, what do you want?” He felt the surrender felt by his victims.

“You hurt people. You violate their security. You take their dignity.” Roy tried to look into the face of his captor. When he finally gathered the courage to look up, the faint light from the street crept up behind, a silhouette was all Roy could distinguish. “What is your name?”

“Wha…what, man?”

“Tell me your name.” It was a demand that came in a tone that was calm and loud without volume or force. Anyone breathing would have obeyed that tone.

“R-Roy… Roy Bergen.” The dark figure and his massive grip thumped Roy’s back against the wall, knocking the wind from his body for the second time.

“You’re going to stop hurting people. I could hurt you tonight but I’m not going to. I’m going to watch you instead, Roy. If you try to steal again I’ll be back. I’ll come back and I’ll make you hate everything you’ve ever taken.” The voice was still calm. The stranger managed to make his point convincingly without the slightest malice or anger. He spoke as though his threat was truth, pure and simple. Any forceful or threatening demeanor would have merely diminished the effect. It worked on Roy. His breath ran in and out as he prepared his finest repentance, willing to admit whatever would garner him freedom. Roy just wanted to go home. He had enough of being an outlaw for tonight.

“Do you understand me, Roy?”

A whimpering “yes,” barely escaped Roy’s weakened expression.

The following few seconds of Roy’s life passed like pouring molasses, dripping by with torturously hanging hesitation. He couldn’t endure the suspense. He couldn’t stand not knowing what this stranger and the darkness of this night had in store for him. He quickly reviewed his place and his life, consciously rolling recent and distant events before his eyes, in a way that he knew people in his situation were supposed to. He yearned for the chance to rewind and renew. The old Roy would have been very ashamed.

With the final drip of molasses, Roy felt the grip around his neck and chest loosen and his feet drop to the ground. “Go home, Roy.” His body twitched momentarily, uncertain that the ordeal was over. “And remember, I’ll be watching.” Roy tried to get a last look at the stranger as he left the alley, but again failed to distinguish any features in the dim, damp light. He knew in the back of his head that he wouldn’t remember the face; he’d remember the presence.

The stranger emerged from the alley to watch Roy dash down in the street and into the dark, turning back every few leaps and scuttles to ensure he was not being pursued. The figure at the mouth of the alley crouched down and picked up one of the bullet shells from the slimy pavement, examining it for a moment before dropping it into his coat pocket. His eyes were attracted up to the billboard with the bright red sports car. The gorgeous woman leaning over it looked down at him seductively. He looked back at Roy still scurrying. A smile crossed his face that was warmer than the gloating ridicule that he was entitled to. It was a warm smile amidst the bleak darkness surrounding him.

Roy would never feel the same about being an outlaw. It would be over a month before he could bring himself to confront anyone in the dark with a gun. He never again could accomplish his thievery with the same confidence and bravado. The payoffs never felt as good. The romance was gone. He looked over his shoulder. He thought twice.

Life had earned his respect.



Thanks for reading.

More Samples are available in the sidebar menu.

Follow the link to the right for ordering instructions.


Patrick