This is something I've been working on. The original opening chapter was a bit slow so I decided tp start here.
Blow Over
by Keith Kareem Williams
CHAPTER ONE - Murder Miami
"Please don't kill me," Manuel begged as the terrible sight of the machete about to savagely slice into the flesh of his neck stopped his blood from flowing. It was an overwhelming feeling for a man to face his own mortality, especially when it wasn't going to be the glorious end of the road that all gangsters hoped for if death came for them violently. There was nothing dignified about being tied down to a bed, naked, in a room surrounded by murderous goons with loaded guns.
"We told you not to play with us you fat little bastard," Pierre, the thick-bearded man wielding the machete growled, his accent a mixture of Miami slang and Haitian Creole. Roughly, he stuffed a black bandana into Manuel's mouth. He didn't need him screaming for help. The veins in his temples tensed as he sneered and prepared to drop the gruesome blade with malicious, sinister ambition to sever his captive's head cleanly with a single slice. A steady stream of tears streamed down Manuel's chubby, pink, cheeks and then, Manuel got lucky.
***
Junie opened the bedroom door, hoping to find a private place to find a private place for him and the thick-hipped Asian swimsuit model on his arm to get away from the party going on downstairs. He didn't know if it was all of the different pills she had popped earlier or the sight of a naked man about to get his head chopped off that made her faint. Frozen in place, Junie didn't even turn to look at her. He only knew that she'd passed out when he felt her hand slip from his grip and heard the body thump on the tiles beside him. Before he could run or protest, he got dragged inside the room and felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple. As soon as the door slammed shut, trapping him inside with the monsters, he wished he had passed out on the floor with the chick. They hadn't even bothered with her so he made a mental note to remember that little fainting trick if he ever got out of his current predicament alive.
"Man, listen," Junie started to plead, raising his hands in the air.
"Shut up!" Pierre growled, cutting him off. It was obvious that he was the leader of the grim band of men intent on bloodshed.
"I ain't got nothin' to do with this," said Junie right before he saw stars and the room started to spin. It sounded like there had been an explosion inside his head but since he was almost certain that he wasn't dead yet, he knew that he hadn't been shot. He'd been smashed across the skull with the butt of the gun instead. He struggled not to black out as his knees buckled but he folded up and ended up flat on his back like an overturned cockroach. Still, as much pain as he was in, his mind began to work and weave a plan of escape. He was slightly comforted by the thought that if they hadn't shot him YET that there was still a chance that he could find a loophole in what appeared to be a death sentence for opening the wrong door at the wrong time. Still, he did possess an uncanny gift for escaping bleak situations. His brothers had always said that he had more lives than an alley-cat.
As soon as he hit the ground, the man who had gun-butted him planted his foot firmly on his chest. Junie was strangely annoyed with himself as he made a very feminine sound as the wind got knocked out of him. Quickly, he shifted his thoughts back to more important things, like NOT getting killed in the next few minutes.
"Want me to shoot him?" the goon standing on Junie's sternum asked Pierre.
"No, don't shoot me!" Junie quickly interjected. He had to strain to see the features of the man who was apparently giving the orders because his vision was blurry. For all intents and purpose, THAT man was "Death Incarnate" for the moment. The man with the gun in his face was only the instrument that would carry out the sentence.
"Did anybody tell you to speak pretty boy?" the goon with the gun in his face asked before he kicked Junie in the jaw. As he tasted his own blood, he didn't know what made him angrier; hearing another man call him pretty or the fact that he might actually be slightly less handsome if he survived the surreal ordeal he had been dragged into. He wondered what the chances of him getting kicked in the face with a BOOT in Miami were. Such a thing was much more likely to occur during a Brooklyn winter but in sunny Miami? The odds had to astronomical.
What the hell is this guy doing wearing boots in ninety-degree weather? Junie thought to himself. The better to kick people in the face with Junie guessed.
"Don't shoot him yet. People will hear the gunshot. I'll chop him up after I carve up this fat lil piggy," Pierre answered.
Junie swallowed hard when he heard that, choking on the metallic taste of his own blood from his busted lip. He would prefer to be shot than hacked to pieces by some machete-wielding maniac who didn't want to make noise but didn't mind a mess. From the floor, Junie couldn't see much more than Manuel's toes and his round belly up on the bed. I wonder why he's naked? As a matter of fact, I don't even wanna know. I hope they don't strip me naked before they kill me, Junie thought to himself before he got back to thinking of escape. He focused hard on the face of the man giving the orders and then the light bulb to save his life went off in his head.
"Pierre, don't kill me!" Junie shouted which got everyone in the room's undivided attention.
"What did you say? How did you know my name? Pierre asked. He walked away from the bed where he was about to butcher Manuel and slowly crossed the room. He pushed his goon aside and stared down at Junie.
"You know me," Junie started to explain.
"I know you? From where?" Pierre asked.
"He's lying'," the man who had kicked him in the face interrupted and planted his foot on Junie's throat.
"He can't speak if you got your damn boot on his throat. What the hell are you doin' wearin' boots anyway?" Pierre asked with an annoyed, puzzled look on his face. Although there was a good chance that he was still going to die, Junie had to force himself not to laugh out loud when Pierre asked the same thing he had been wondering about. He quickly got back to trying to survive.
"You know me from Brooklyn," Junie answered.
"I don't know anybody from Brooklyn!" Pierre roared. Judging from the man's sudden change in demeanor, Junie knew that he had guessed correctly and that his eyes had not deceived him. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out but even under the thick beard, he recognized Pierre.
"So you're NOT the same Pierre that shot the cop in the park a few years back when he ran up on everybody at the dice game?" Junie asked. He knew what he risked by saying it out loud but he didn't have a choice and not much to lose. With all that he had seen, from the faces, to the guns, to the man about to be butchered, it was unlikely he would be spared anyway. He was an unwilling, accidental, witness with both feet in the grave. Pierre's bloodshot eyes opened wide at the question and served to confirm that Junie had the right man.
"Who are you?" Pierre asked.
"I'm Flat's younger brother. You used to live upstairs from us," Junie answered. Pierre studied his face for a while but eventually Junie could see that he recognized him. He extended his hand and helped Junie to his feet.
"You work for this hog?" Pierre asked, pointing the machete at Manuel.
"Hell no!" Junie answered.
"What you doin' all the way down in Miami?" Pierre asked.
"I'm here for what everybody comes here for. I came to party and bullshit," he answered.
"So, if you don't work for this soon-to-be-dead man, what you doin' at his party?" Pierre questioned.
"I'm here on vacation with my girl. She got sick on the flight down so I left her in the hotel. I ran into his cousin outside a bar and he told me they had a bunch of models getting' high and partyin' over here so, here I am," he explained. The words flew out of his mouth so fast it almost sounded like he was rambling. It was the pleasant side-effect caused by being relieved about NOT dying a gruesome death in the next fifteen or so minutes.
"So, you're tellin' me you know him from Brooklyn too?" Pierre asked suspiciously.
"Not from Brooklyn and I ain't say we were best friends either. I know him from the Wash Heights, uptown. We used to go up there to cop weed from him sometimes. Listen, I know it seems like a crazy coincidence but it's a small world fam," Junie answered, making sure he used the slang abbreviation for family at the end of his explanation, just to remind Pierre that they were friends once. It seemed to work as he watched Pierre appear considerably less tense.
"Because me and your brother go way back, I know you ain't no snitch so I ain't gonna murder you for what you know. I AM gonna kill this hog though," he said turning his attention back to Manuel who must have pissed himself already.
"What'd he do?" Junie asked. He had escaped the butcher but he wasn't necessarily eager to witness whatever unpleasant business was about to go down. He didn't shy away from violence. If it came down to it, he was down to take life if he had to. He just wasn't keen on being privy to the type of carnage Pierre had in mind.
"These boys from New York, they think they can come down here and do whatever they want," Pierre answered and slapped Manuel on his round belly with the flat side of the machete. He literally yelped from the blow like a kicked puppy. Junie saw the machete's blade vibrate in Pierre's hand after the blow.
"You wanna kill him cause he's out here partying?" Junie asked, knowing how absurd his question was in hopes of lightening the mood of the room. He had a good relationship with Karma so he didn't think it was a bad thing if, (now that he'd gotten his own fat out of the fire) he did the same for Manuel if he could.
"Of course not! What d'you think, we're crazy? No, we told him more than once about comin' down here to our city makin' money, playin' like a rock star and not having a piece for us. We don't play that shit! He don't wanna pat so now, we kill him," Pierre explained. Again, Junie's mind began to work.
"I feel you but why kill him?" Junie asked.
"Because this is how we do shit!" Pierre answered, raising the machete in the air again.
"I feel you but if you were tryin' to make a point, I think you already made it. You kill him and then what? He's dead and you dump the pieces of his body somewhere. Ok, and then what?" Junie asked.
"And then he'll know we wasn't to be fucked with!" Pierre barked.
"True, but he'll be dead too. You can't collect money from a dead man. This whole thing IS about money ain't it? I'm sure if you was to take the gag outta his mouth he'd tell you where the stash at and pay you anything you want if you let him live. I can even bet he would never step a toe back in your city as long as he lives too. I'm just sayin'," Junie said, trying to reason with the room full of seemingly irrational men.
"You tryin' to tell us how we should do shit?" Pierre asked, pointing the machete at Junie.
"Not at all but if I ain't makin' sense, by all means go ahead and chop him to pieces. Just let me leave first cause I ain't really got the stomach for that type of shit," Junie answered nonchalantly.
[THANKS FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ THIS. mY QUESTION IS....WOULD YOU TURN THE PAGE TO CONTINUE ON TO CHAPTER 2?]
Blow Over
by Keith Kareem Williams
CHAPTER ONE - Murder Miami
"Please don't kill me," Manuel begged as the terrible sight of the machete about to savagely slice into the flesh of his neck stopped his blood from flowing. It was an overwhelming feeling for a man to face his own mortality, especially when it wasn't going to be the glorious end of the road that all gangsters hoped for if death came for them violently. There was nothing dignified about being tied down to a bed, naked, in a room surrounded by murderous goons with loaded guns.
"We told you not to play with us you fat little bastard," Pierre, the thick-bearded man wielding the machete growled, his accent a mixture of Miami slang and Haitian Creole. Roughly, he stuffed a black bandana into Manuel's mouth. He didn't need him screaming for help. The veins in his temples tensed as he sneered and prepared to drop the gruesome blade with malicious, sinister ambition to sever his captive's head cleanly with a single slice. A steady stream of tears streamed down Manuel's chubby, pink, cheeks and then, Manuel got lucky.
***
Junie opened the bedroom door, hoping to find a private place to find a private place for him and the thick-hipped Asian swimsuit model on his arm to get away from the party going on downstairs. He didn't know if it was all of the different pills she had popped earlier or the sight of a naked man about to get his head chopped off that made her faint. Frozen in place, Junie didn't even turn to look at her. He only knew that she'd passed out when he felt her hand slip from his grip and heard the body thump on the tiles beside him. Before he could run or protest, he got dragged inside the room and felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple. As soon as the door slammed shut, trapping him inside with the monsters, he wished he had passed out on the floor with the chick. They hadn't even bothered with her so he made a mental note to remember that little fainting trick if he ever got out of his current predicament alive.
"Man, listen," Junie started to plead, raising his hands in the air.
"Shut up!" Pierre growled, cutting him off. It was obvious that he was the leader of the grim band of men intent on bloodshed.
"I ain't got nothin' to do with this," said Junie right before he saw stars and the room started to spin. It sounded like there had been an explosion inside his head but since he was almost certain that he wasn't dead yet, he knew that he hadn't been shot. He'd been smashed across the skull with the butt of the gun instead. He struggled not to black out as his knees buckled but he folded up and ended up flat on his back like an overturned cockroach. Still, as much pain as he was in, his mind began to work and weave a plan of escape. He was slightly comforted by the thought that if they hadn't shot him YET that there was still a chance that he could find a loophole in what appeared to be a death sentence for opening the wrong door at the wrong time. Still, he did possess an uncanny gift for escaping bleak situations. His brothers had always said that he had more lives than an alley-cat.
As soon as he hit the ground, the man who had gun-butted him planted his foot firmly on his chest. Junie was strangely annoyed with himself as he made a very feminine sound as the wind got knocked out of him. Quickly, he shifted his thoughts back to more important things, like NOT getting killed in the next few minutes.
"Want me to shoot him?" the goon standing on Junie's sternum asked Pierre.
"No, don't shoot me!" Junie quickly interjected. He had to strain to see the features of the man who was apparently giving the orders because his vision was blurry. For all intents and purpose, THAT man was "Death Incarnate" for the moment. The man with the gun in his face was only the instrument that would carry out the sentence.
"Did anybody tell you to speak pretty boy?" the goon with the gun in his face asked before he kicked Junie in the jaw. As he tasted his own blood, he didn't know what made him angrier; hearing another man call him pretty or the fact that he might actually be slightly less handsome if he survived the surreal ordeal he had been dragged into. He wondered what the chances of him getting kicked in the face with a BOOT in Miami were. Such a thing was much more likely to occur during a Brooklyn winter but in sunny Miami? The odds had to astronomical.
What the hell is this guy doing wearing boots in ninety-degree weather? Junie thought to himself. The better to kick people in the face with Junie guessed.
"Don't shoot him yet. People will hear the gunshot. I'll chop him up after I carve up this fat lil piggy," Pierre answered.
Junie swallowed hard when he heard that, choking on the metallic taste of his own blood from his busted lip. He would prefer to be shot than hacked to pieces by some machete-wielding maniac who didn't want to make noise but didn't mind a mess. From the floor, Junie couldn't see much more than Manuel's toes and his round belly up on the bed. I wonder why he's naked? As a matter of fact, I don't even wanna know. I hope they don't strip me naked before they kill me, Junie thought to himself before he got back to thinking of escape. He focused hard on the face of the man giving the orders and then the light bulb to save his life went off in his head.
"Pierre, don't kill me!" Junie shouted which got everyone in the room's undivided attention.
"What did you say? How did you know my name? Pierre asked. He walked away from the bed where he was about to butcher Manuel and slowly crossed the room. He pushed his goon aside and stared down at Junie.
"You know me," Junie started to explain.
"I know you? From where?" Pierre asked.
"He's lying'," the man who had kicked him in the face interrupted and planted his foot on Junie's throat.
"He can't speak if you got your damn boot on his throat. What the hell are you doin' wearin' boots anyway?" Pierre asked with an annoyed, puzzled look on his face. Although there was a good chance that he was still going to die, Junie had to force himself not to laugh out loud when Pierre asked the same thing he had been wondering about. He quickly got back to trying to survive.
"You know me from Brooklyn," Junie answered.
"I don't know anybody from Brooklyn!" Pierre roared. Judging from the man's sudden change in demeanor, Junie knew that he had guessed correctly and that his eyes had not deceived him. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out but even under the thick beard, he recognized Pierre.
"So you're NOT the same Pierre that shot the cop in the park a few years back when he ran up on everybody at the dice game?" Junie asked. He knew what he risked by saying it out loud but he didn't have a choice and not much to lose. With all that he had seen, from the faces, to the guns, to the man about to be butchered, it was unlikely he would be spared anyway. He was an unwilling, accidental, witness with both feet in the grave. Pierre's bloodshot eyes opened wide at the question and served to confirm that Junie had the right man.
"Who are you?" Pierre asked.
"I'm Flat's younger brother. You used to live upstairs from us," Junie answered. Pierre studied his face for a while but eventually Junie could see that he recognized him. He extended his hand and helped Junie to his feet.
"You work for this hog?" Pierre asked, pointing the machete at Manuel.
"Hell no!" Junie answered.
"What you doin' all the way down in Miami?" Pierre asked.
"I'm here for what everybody comes here for. I came to party and bullshit," he answered.
"So, if you don't work for this soon-to-be-dead man, what you doin' at his party?" Pierre questioned.
"I'm here on vacation with my girl. She got sick on the flight down so I left her in the hotel. I ran into his cousin outside a bar and he told me they had a bunch of models getting' high and partyin' over here so, here I am," he explained. The words flew out of his mouth so fast it almost sounded like he was rambling. It was the pleasant side-effect caused by being relieved about NOT dying a gruesome death in the next fifteen or so minutes.
"So, you're tellin' me you know him from Brooklyn too?" Pierre asked suspiciously.
"Not from Brooklyn and I ain't say we were best friends either. I know him from the Wash Heights, uptown. We used to go up there to cop weed from him sometimes. Listen, I know it seems like a crazy coincidence but it's a small world fam," Junie answered, making sure he used the slang abbreviation for family at the end of his explanation, just to remind Pierre that they were friends once. It seemed to work as he watched Pierre appear considerably less tense.
"Because me and your brother go way back, I know you ain't no snitch so I ain't gonna murder you for what you know. I AM gonna kill this hog though," he said turning his attention back to Manuel who must have pissed himself already.
"What'd he do?" Junie asked. He had escaped the butcher but he wasn't necessarily eager to witness whatever unpleasant business was about to go down. He didn't shy away from violence. If it came down to it, he was down to take life if he had to. He just wasn't keen on being privy to the type of carnage Pierre had in mind.
"These boys from New York, they think they can come down here and do whatever they want," Pierre answered and slapped Manuel on his round belly with the flat side of the machete. He literally yelped from the blow like a kicked puppy. Junie saw the machete's blade vibrate in Pierre's hand after the blow.
"You wanna kill him cause he's out here partying?" Junie asked, knowing how absurd his question was in hopes of lightening the mood of the room. He had a good relationship with Karma so he didn't think it was a bad thing if, (now that he'd gotten his own fat out of the fire) he did the same for Manuel if he could.
"Of course not! What d'you think, we're crazy? No, we told him more than once about comin' down here to our city makin' money, playin' like a rock star and not having a piece for us. We don't play that shit! He don't wanna pat so now, we kill him," Pierre explained. Again, Junie's mind began to work.
"I feel you but why kill him?" Junie asked.
"Because this is how we do shit!" Pierre answered, raising the machete in the air again.
"I feel you but if you were tryin' to make a point, I think you already made it. You kill him and then what? He's dead and you dump the pieces of his body somewhere. Ok, and then what?" Junie asked.
"And then he'll know we wasn't to be fucked with!" Pierre barked.
"True, but he'll be dead too. You can't collect money from a dead man. This whole thing IS about money ain't it? I'm sure if you was to take the gag outta his mouth he'd tell you where the stash at and pay you anything you want if you let him live. I can even bet he would never step a toe back in your city as long as he lives too. I'm just sayin'," Junie said, trying to reason with the room full of seemingly irrational men.
"You tryin' to tell us how we should do shit?" Pierre asked, pointing the machete at Junie.
"Not at all but if I ain't makin' sense, by all means go ahead and chop him to pieces. Just let me leave first cause I ain't really got the stomach for that type of shit," Junie answered nonchalantly.
[THANKS FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ THIS. mY QUESTION IS....WOULD YOU TURN THE PAGE TO CONTINUE ON TO CHAPTER 2?]
boy stop playing...where the hell is the rest of it??????!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteGlad it caught your attention. I have more chapters but I have to re-write them since I changed the opening scene to maintain the right continuity.
ReplyDeleteI am turning the page but nothing's there... Lol
ReplyDeleteHonestly, I don't think you can write anything that people wouldn't want to keep reading. I've read all your books, just finishing up Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars, so I think I can say that with certainty.
So keep it coming!
Dear Ann, I'm proud that you enjoyed this sneak peek. I wanted to see how people felt about the story so I know whether or not to continue with it. Thanks for reading. :-)
ReplyDelete