Happy Monday folks. Today, I decided to share excerpts from my "War Angel" novels. At the moment, I'm feverishly working on finishing up the final book of the trilogy, "War Angel III: Catalina." (Those of you who have already read "War Angel" and "War Angel II: Where Angels Fear to Tread" will be excited to hear that, I'm sure.) For those who haven't read the books yet, enjoy and feel free to leave comments, or order autographed copies via the Paypal link.
Sample from "War Angel"
by Keith Kareem Williams
Copyright © 2013 Keith Kareem Williams
All rights reserved.
CHAPTER 15 minus 15
And Here We Are Again
|
L
|
enox gazed up at the moon as he walked up the long, winding, concrete
driveway that ended at Jon’s doorstep. The number 1187 hung above the door and
on either side of the path lay grass, partially buried under the freshly fallen
snow. With his feet on the welcome mat, he stood on the shore of the place
where the war for his soul was about to be fought. He took a deep breath and
rang the doorbell with a surprisingly calm heart. Everything seemed to move in
slow motion as a strange sense of peace and acceptance washed over him,
soothing nerves that should have been on edge. He waited a few moments and then
rang the doorbell again.
He hadn’t watched
Josephine’s video so Lenox was surprised when Jon finally opened the door
because in his mind’s eye, he had pictured someone totally different. A creepy,
sniveling, little weakling did not answer the door. Instead, Lenox found
himself standing in front of a hulking, muscular man, heavily tattooed, in a white
tank top who had the physique of a bodybuilder or prison inmate. However, on
top of his broad neck and shoulders sat the unassuming face of a salesman.
Lenox was glad that his gun was already in hand when the door opened. By the
way his green eyes opened wide, Jon was not.
“What the fuck!”
Jon exclaimed when he opened his front door and found the business end of a gun
practically pressed to his forehead. His tan skin turned ghostly white from the
fright and even the tattoos seemed to flinch. The peanut butter and jelly
sandwich he had only taken one bite out of fell from his hand and hit the
floor.
Lenox knew that he
should have just pulled the trigger, blew a hole in Jon’s head and be done with
the deed but he didn’t. He looked into the eyes of the man he was about to kill
and a strange, random thought entered his mind unexpectedly. There was
something in the confused, frightened expression on Jon’s face that made Lenox
suddenly feel maliciously merciful. That shred of mercy did not extend far
enough to spare Jon. Only an act of God could grant him that but, Lenox
intended to let this man know what he was about to die for.
“Shut the fuck up
and get inside!” Lenox barked.
Jon stumbled
backwards awkwardly when Lenox pressed the end of his gun against his sweaty
forehead and pushed him into the house. Once they were inside, Lenox used his
free hand to close the door behind them.
“I don’t keep money
in the house,” Jon pleaded.
“I ain’t here for
money,” Lenox growled.
“So what do you
want?” Jon asked, confused and terrified.
“Your life,” Lenox
answered.
“Why? I d-d-don’t
even know you,” Jon stuttered.
“Don’t bother
begging. It won’t help you.”
“Why? I’ve never
seen you before. I never did anything to you. W-w-why…why would you…” Jon
continued until Lenox stopped him.
“I’m here to do
what Tone would have done if he was alive,” Lenox told him which seemed to
leave Jon even more confused.
“I don’t know
anybody named Tone!” exclaimed Jon in an attempt to reason with Lenox whose
face remained hard and determined.
A day or two before
that evening, Jon may have been able to reach the man with the gun, appealed to
his better judgment, humanity, or even took advantage of some measure of
lingering uncertainty. Unfortunately for him, Lenox had transformed into a man
that would not compromise and could not be reasoned with. He was unmoved by the
fear in Jon’s eyes or the pitiful mewling sound of his voice. At that moment,
Lenox was consumed by the power he held. What had once felt foreign in his hand
had become an extension of his will and his murderous intentions. As Jon
continued to beg, words poured uselessly from his mouth the same way that blood
was about to flow freely from a bullet wound, or two.
“No, you didn’t
know Tone but you know his daughter and as I stand here, ready to kill you for
the filthy fucking child rapist that you are, I get the feeling that he’s
watching and smiling,” Lenox answered.
Letting Jon know
why he was about to die was the extent of Lenox’s mercy. Suddenly tears welled
up in Jon’s eyes and resembled green pools that reflected his doom as he
finally realized why there was a gun in his face. The shock alone nearly killed
him. He couldn’t believe it and wondered how anyone could have possibly found
out. He knew that Angela hadn’t dared tell anyone because he had threatened to
hurt her mother if she did. He wondered how this man had found out about what
he had been doing.
“I can tell by the
look on your face and the piss that’s running down the leg of your sweatpants
that you understand exactly why I’m here. Good. I ain’t gotta say anything else
then,” said Lenox.
“Who s-s-sent you?”
Jon backed away
slowly. He would have fallen to his knees and begged if he thought that would
have saved him. Instead, he fell in love with the idea of running for his life.
“It doesn’t matter
who sent me. I’m basically a mechanic sent to fix fucked up people like you,
the only way they can be fixed. That’s why I’m about to put a permanent hole in
your head,” Lenox answered before he took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger
with thoughts of the days he had been forced to spend between Mrs. Chandler’s
sweaty thighs hot on his mind.
BANG!!! A single
hot slug ripped through Jon’s left ear as he turned to run away. He stumbled
after he was hit but was on the move seconds after with extreme pain and a
strong desire to live his driving motivation. His only thought was to get
through the kitchen, make it up the stairs to his bedroom to get the gun in his
nightstand so that maybe he could defend himself. As slim as his chances were and
as ridiculously unlikely as it was, it was all he had to hold on to. As he took
off, he heard two empty clicks and realized that Lenox’s gun had jammed. Maybe
I can make it, he thought, still clinging to a sliver of hope.
“Fuck!” Lenox
grumbled, suddenly regretting not blowing Jon’s head off as soon as he had
opened the door.
Now Lenox had no
choice but to take off after him as Jon ran through the house like a frightened
wild animal, bloodied and wounded. As Jon reached the kitchen, Lenox caught him
by the shoulder and spun him around. Most of his ear was missing and blood
flowed in rivers from the gruesome wound but the man was far from dead. As he
was wheeled around, he landed a solid punch squarely on Lenox’s jaw, hard
enough to make him drop his gun and rattle his brain in his skull. As Lenox
staggered, he bumped into the drain board next to the kitchen sink, shaking the
dishes that sat in it. Jon started to hope a little more and lunged forward to
wrap his hands around Lenox’s throat. His fingers were like vices as he fought
for his life and Lenox couldn’t break his grip.
While fighting not
to black out, Lenox spotted a butcher’s knife in the sink, covered with peanut
butter and jelly. He reached for it as he started to see stars and knew his
life depending on it. His knees nearly buckled as he stretched, desperate to
get his hands on the handle. A split second later, Jon saw the gleam of metal
of the knife’s blade raised high in the air and wished that he had used a
butter knife to make his sandwich earlier. Lenox brought the knife down like a
hammer with all the strength he had left and buried it in Jon’s collar, all the
way to the handle. Jon’s grip weakened but he didn’t let go. He slumped forward
into Lenox’s unwelcoming arms.
“I told you.
There’s no way to stop this,” Lenox whispered in Jon’s ear before he pulled the
knife out slowly.
Jon grunted weakly,
still holding on to Lenox’s throat while tears flowed freely from his eyes the
same way the blood leaked from his wound. Lenox stabbed Jon again, this time in
the stomach, tearing the man open. As he dragged the knife across his belly,
entrails spilled onto the floor until Lenox was standing in a pool of blood and
guts. Lenox felt strong hands weaken and fall away from his throat as Jon
collapsed at his feet in a twisted, sickening heap. The heavy, wet, thud woke
Lenox from a murderous, crimson daydream. Later on he would wonder if it had
been the side-effect of an adrenaline rush or if he had really lost himself. He
stared at what he had done for a few moments, shocked, disgusted and
fascinated. Once he was sure that Jon was dead, he stepped over the body,
picked up his gun and left.
***
To Lenox’s dismay,
Hector was gone and the car was locked when he got back outside. He wondered if
leaving him stranded at the scene of a murder that he had just committed had
been a part of Carmen’s plan all along. Without his car, his chances of quickly
putting distance between himself and Jon’s corpse was impossible. He couldn’t
just call a cab and there was no public transportation in such a swanky,
private community. Even if there was, he was completely covered in blood. He
almost laughed at how foolish he had been to get caught up in Carmen’s snare.
That’s when Hector showed up, walking briskly from the shadows at the side of
the house, carrying a small, black duffel bag.
“Are you crazy?
Where the fuck were you?” Lenox asked.
“I used the key
that Josephine gave Carmen to sneak upstairs without a fuss to steal money and
jewelry,” Hector explained as he opened the car doors. “Now get in!”
“That ain’t what we
fuckin’ came here for!” Lenox complained.
“No, it’s not but
we needed to make this look like a robbery to protect Josephine. Oh, by the
way, I broke the lock on the side door on purpose so I’m sure the silent alarm
is going off as we stand here fucking arguing. It might be better if we
finished our conversation somewhere else…unless of course you want to wait and
explain things to the cops?” Hector asked before he got in the car and started
the engine.
With his chest
heaving and filled with the frosty evening air, Lenox frantically opened the
car door and got in the back seat. Surprisingly, he still held a firm grip on
the gun in his right hand that only a few hours before wouldn’t stop trembling.
The clip was still fully loaded except for the single round it had discharged
just a few moments before. After that, it had jammed which forced him to
improvise on the fly. In his left hand, he still held onto the kitchen knife
he’d only seen for the first time that very night. Every nerve in his body felt
raw and exposed, making it difficult for him to decide whether he was more
alive than ever or disturbingly closer to death. He strained his eyes to
examine the front of his black sweatshirt, wet with blood that wasn’t his own.
Of course, in the dark he couldn’t see it but it was there and he was covered
in it. After what he had just done, it would have been impossible not to be
drenched in it. The sickening metallic scent of the gore clawed up his nostrils
and nearly forced what little food sat in his stomach to creep up into his
throat. He held his breath until the overwhelming wave of nausea passed. He
felt feverish and even the winter chill wasn’t enough to stop the steady stream
of perspiration that trickled down the sides of his face. The pressure in his
temples pounded in perfect pace with his racing heart as part of a maniacal
symphony in his pulse.
“Is it done?”
Hector asked from the driver’s seat.
He kept one hand on
the gear shifter and the other on the gun hidden in his jacket. Carmen trusted
Lenox but he didn’t. The jealousy that still pumped through his veins made him
wish that Lenox would give him a reason to kill him.
“Yes,” Lenox
murmured.
“Are you sure?”
Hector asked again.
“I said it’s done.
Now let’s go!” Lenox growled, annoyed by the hint of mocking sarcasm in
Hector’s tone.
There was something
sinister and malicious in the question that served as the harbinger of very
unpleasant things to come. There was a long, quiet, moment of tension before
Hector grudgingly took his hand off of his gun, gripped the steering wheel and
floored the gas pedal. The car skated down the icy, suburban road which was
lined with beautifully leafless trees, decorated with snow-covered limbs; a
sharp contrast to the bloody, crimson horror that Lenox had left behind in the
house he’d just run out of. While Hector drove recklessly to get them out of
the area as quickly as he could, Lenox breathed a sigh of relief and laid
himself flat across the back seat. He longed for his own bed but for the
moment, it would have to suffice. He lay on his back, let the gory knife fall
from his hand and closed his eyes, feeling safer being low enough not to be
seen. He attempted to wipe away the steady flow of sweat with his black-gloved
hands but became disgusted when he realized that he had accidentally smeared
blood all over his face. Even though the car swerved erratically down the
dangerously slick roads, fish-tailing as Hector sped around corners, Lenox
drifted off to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment