by BL Burke
Contents
Invitation
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Invitation
Biblioagraphy
Request for Review
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Copyright
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Prologue
A part of him regretted showing up here, walking down the deserted ally. He felt and heard the glass crunching beneath his boots. Hordes of trash, needles, and various other little objects of dangerous origin stalked the ground. He went through an opening where a fence gate must have once stood to give previous occupants some privacy.
He took the three steps up into the yard and carefully walked across the overgrown walkway. Quick clangs of metal bouncing sounded by his feet. Looking down, he saw the bullet shells and broken glass glittering in the long wild grass.
In front of him, he saw the weather beaten, green plywood covering broken windows. Gold spray paint swooped in between with letters too difficult to make out. Sounds of what could be misconstrued as a party raged from the house ahead. He was in their world now.
He slowly pushed a piece of concrete away with the tip of his brown boot and produced the special knock the way his “buddy” told him. There was no answer.
“Long live the king,” he said.
The door pulled open. A big Hispanic guy looked down at him; Carlito was the name. A man who was well described to him, dark straining eyes that looked at you with almost pity. He had short black hair and colorless tattoos down his arms and up to his neck. So far, the description was correct.
The Catcher’s hood covered most of his head as he looked up, trying to show off a sinister side; Carlito didn’t care. This wasn’t where he wanted to be, but where he needed to be. He stepped up and was still close to a half of a foot shorter than the big guy.
“You ain’t a cop are you,” Carlito said, as his hand rested just inside his coat.
He tried to think of something smart, but the glare said don’t. “No, I ain’t a cop.” He could almost taste the mold floating through the air.
“You’d have to tell me if you were,”
“Sure,” the catcher said.
Carlito waived a black and yellow baton, “Phone, weapons… any metal.” Carlito said. A basket was filled with phones, watches and a set of brass knuckles. About ten handguns were spread out on the counter behind him: one gold, a few in chrome; they all probably had their numbers filed off. He pulled out his old flip phone and dropped it in the basket.
“That’s it” the Catcher said. Carlito nodded and started to waive the baton down around his body. He was here for a catch; he needed to remember it all: their names, the parts they play… it was all part of the job. The baton beeped at his elbow.
“What’s that?” Carlito said with his deep, unnerving stare.
“Screws.”
“Show me.”
He yanked up the sleeve of his black hoodie, showing the one-inch scar in dissecting his elbow. “Careful, it’s a bit rough down there, white boy,” Carlito said casually, nodding him to the panel basement door five feet away.
As he walked toward the sick party he went over the names in his head; he couldn’t screw this up. As he remembered the first time he learned about places like these, he felt his face getting red and nearly threw up. For a long time, he tried to find out where this took place, he’d heard about these people. These monsters but they were just out of reach. Until his newest recruit decided it was a good time to talk.
At the door he took a look back at Carlito, the man was hunched over his phone. There was no knob, just a hole where it used to be. As he opened it voices rose up from beneath him, excited and loud people talking over each other. He could see as much as smell weed floating up the stairs.
He pulled his shoulders back and took a deep breath as his foot hit the first step down into the lion’s den. It was a place where the beasts were on the outside as the animals were in.
Stairs creaked as he went down, his jaw clenched as he grabbed the wooden railing. Another step, the voices grew louder. Some rap music played in the background but he couldn’t understand a word as the occupants almost yelling to get their points across.
“You know she’s a trained killer; she’ll rip the face off you if she has the chance,” a young voice slurred at the base.
“Rex, ten to one,” a voice shouted, deep like he spent his day inhaling cigarettes. “Adeline, two to one.”
At the bottom about thirty people were spread around the dirt floor. A few rich kids spending their parents’ money and trying to be ‘hood were hammered and talking over each other. Thugs hung back at the walls, they seemed to be eyeing up the suckers for later. But mostly they were here for a fight, all of them beasts.
Above him he saw wooden support beams looking like they were about to crash the entire house onto the dirt floor. If only, he thought.
“Ten to one on Rex, Adeline two to one, over under is two minutes,” the voice popped up next to him. He looked at the owner of the voice. The small ashen skinned man stared at him with dull brown eyes through thick glasses. “Case is a bookie, four-eyed old bastard loves to watches people and makes them squirm,” his recruit told him. Another decent enough description… if you could describe what a bastard looked like.
“Sounds like a winner.”
“She’s a bitch, but yeah, she’s a winner,” Case said.
“Next round,” he replied through a fake grin.
“You gotta bet, this round or next.”
“Like I said… next,” Another name for his list. It was ever growing: catch them all, end them all. The Catcher wiped his palms on his jeans. He had no intention of being here in the next round, no intention of betting with these evil bastards.
The music started to die out and a bell rang, all eyes twisting to the center of the room. “Alright, quiet down,” a voice yelled over the crowd.
He caught a quick glimpse of Kieron, another man who’d been described to him: light brown skin, toothy
white smile, “really fucking smart, never been caught on any of the hundreds of felonies he’s committed” his source said. Even in the dirty basement he wore a full grey suit, complete with a bright pink shirt and white tie. Fucker looked like he should be out on the catwalk with other self-centered dicks.
“Quiet down, assholes,” Kieron yelled again. As the voices died down he heard the first sound that made his skin crawl: a bark. A yelp responded; one happy, one mad. He took a deep breath. Looking at the floor, he gritted his teeth. Hold it back, he thought; Kieron was on the list, but not at the top. That spot was reserved for one of the trainers, and a score needed to be settled.
“Alright, in the ring! Keep `em behind the scratch line!” Kieron demanded.
He pushed his way up so for a better view. A large black guy moved his elbow and hit him in the chest. The man looked him in the eye then shrugged his shoulders as if an apology was too much work.
Through the small crowd in front of him the Catcher saw his target: Eddie. The man stood over one of the dogs inside a chicken wire octagon. “Got ya,” he whispered at Adeline’s trainer. The black man stood about six feet, the Catcher’s size. But the thug weighed fifty pounds more. He looked a little older than the last time they met, but Eddie, AKA ‘E’, had the same sick look in his dark eyes as he did all those years ago.
“E, you ready?” Kieron yelled. The Catcher’s target nodded. “Harlan?” The small but well-built white guy with a bald head nodded. A new name for the list.
He glanced at saw Adeline, a light-brown pit-bull; her ears and tail were snipped while slash and bite marks crisscrossed her powerful body. Hair hadn’t even grown back in some places as her skin showed bright red. He could feel the pain she went through as her muscles contracted with each breath and see it in the scars she held.
“Bastards,” he whispered.
Just this was enough to make him want to slit E’s throat, but not today, that wasn’t the plan. Rex looked like he didn’t know what was going on, glancing at Adeline then looking at the crowd gathered around, probably his first fight. The shiny blue coat glistened in the light. He wore a goofy but innocent looking smile. Rex glanced up at his master and tried to jump up and lick him. Harlan shoved the dog back to the ground and the crowd laughed.
He spun towards the door. He heard the bell ring as he muscled through. A growl then a howl of pain, he almost couldn’t control his anger. He clenched his fists and felt his short fingernails dig into his palms. The rage began to seep through when a strong, wayward arm struck him in the back. There were all of the guns upstairs; it’d be like shooting fish in a barrel if he could get past Carlito and he was a murderer.
“Watch out, homes,” Kieron sneered over his shoulder as he strutted through the crowd to the bookie. “Case, you seen Skitter yet?”
“Nope.” The Catcher slowed, almost instantly he smiled and he quelled the urge to say ‘I have. He’s my buddy now.’ “Not in a minute,” Case said. The Catcher slipped behind them and floated up the stairs. Carlito looked up; the word on the street was he didn’t approve of dog fighting.
“Upset stomach. Can I get my phone?” he muttered, hand on his belly. Carlito’s eyes narrowed, looking him up and down.
“That was quick.”
“Had to see a friend.”
“You sure you ain’t no cop?”
“Do I look like a fucking pig? Forget them pigs… big guy,” he said.
Carlito’s eyes were still assessing. He turned around to his bucket, grabbed the Catcher’s phone and slapped it into his hand.
As he exited the door, he stretched his stinging hand into the brisk spring air. A soft rain started on the walk to his car, but it couldn’t make the north side any brighter; it was the pit of Brew City. Nothing but a mixture of bulldozers and Godly wrath could fix this side of town.
He headed to the Jeep, right behind E’s beat up Astro Van.
E, Eddie: scum, criminal, dog fighter, a waste of life in the purest sense.
He took out his keys and got in the passenger side of the Jeep. His hand felt the gun in the side compartment. Closing his eyes he thought about the night they first met. He could always see it, feel the hurt from it… then he drifted off.
--------
Jingling keys and a yelp made his eyes shoot up. E was at the back of his van, hunkered over he mooned the Catcher. He caught a quick glimpse of Adeline; even in the dark he could see her face and claws were red with blood.
She whimpered as the slamming of the cage rang through the air. E’s hand hit the side to try and shut her up.
“Quiet, ya shit!” E yelled. The Catcher said a quick prayer for Rex.
He grabbed the gun and the plastic door handle and threw it open.
“Yo, E! What’s up?”
“Who that?” He took a step closer.
“You don’t remember me? Come on man,” The Catcher said. He could see the microscopic gears moving along in E’s head.
“I don’t know you,” E said. The Catcher raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The dart hit him in the chest. E stumbled backwards; his ass resting on the bumper. His red eyes blew up nearly popping out of his head, both hands grabbed at the dart. Adeline growled then snapped, loud barks erupted toward him. She was fighting to get out of the cage and help her trainer, handler, abuser… murderer. The same guy who hurt her, beat her and treated her as if she didn’t feel any of it.
“It’ll be okay, girl,” the Catcher said moving closer to them, “I’m here to help.” She growled and stared him down. Her loyalty was true, but he knew that. The Catcher held up E’s head and pulled back a fist. With a strong hook he crossed E’s head. Blood splashed from the lip around the van. The Catcher grabbed E and turned him around. Reaching under his armpits, he interlocked his fingers and started to pull E toward the rear of the Jeep.
Adeline’s barks became more frantic as she jumped at the cage door. The gate crashed as he pulled the piece of shit away from her toward the hatch.
He opened it and pushed the body inside. “Take your last breath of fresh air, asshole.” He slammed the hatch, looking around, nobody. He jumped in the driver’s seat and pulled away.
Chapter 1
James slid his key into the lock of the old firehouse and turned. He yawned loudly, the back hall was empty. He turned to the staircase and started to climb, pulling himself up with his arms along the rail. His eyes barely open, he made it to the top. Maybe he could get a decent cot? Not that there was much of a choice. Of all the stations in Milwaukee, this was the worst.
The burnt coffee smell ran into him when he passed the door leading to what was professionally known as a kitchen, but felt more like a dive bar’s toilets. A few quiet voices came from inside. His sore legs carried him down the off-white hall to the bunk room. Laughter rang from the right.
He opened the squealing door and headed for the sweat-stained cot in the far corner. As he laid down, a spring pummeled a pair of ribs, but it was still the best of what they had. His right arm shot out and cracked; he almost didn’t notice it anymore.
“Webb! There you are,” a friendly voice yelled out. “Didn’t stop by and say hello?”
“Top of the morning,” James said, he pushed a smile on.
“You’re here?” another much more grumpy voice came from somewhere near the entrance.
“Can’t go blabbing to daddy,” James rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What time is it?”
James heard the door slam shut so hard the weak knob rattled. “Nine,” Leroy said, he looked back at the closed door. The mattress on the edge of the cot dipped as Leroy sat down. “Late night?”
“Are you reading minds now?” James said with a groan.
“I deduced.”
“Come on.”
“I don’t know why we can’t get better cots,” Leroy said. He started to bounce on the shrieking spring.
“Budget’s tight.”
“Yeah,” Leroy paused. “Well let’s get up and hit th
e weights.”
“Rusty weights. Why don’t we just do this at a gym?”
“Cause you seem to always be busy,” James grabbed Leroy’s hand and pulled himself up. “We need to get you ready, the next test is only three weeks out.”
“I won’t get the call up. I’m going to forever be in the minor leagues.”
“Being an EMT isn’t the minor leagues, my friend,” Leroy said, “and I ain’t letting you off.” James’ elbow cracked. Leroy pretended not to notice it, but James knew what he thought.
“It’s been five years,” James said.
“You were nothing but a stringy little teen back then.”
“I was twenty-two, and stop talking like a creepy professor. You were only on the ladder for a year.”
“But it was a good year. Come on, we’ll get you a protein shake and you can tell me all about her.” Leroy said.
“About her?”
“Whoever the lucky lady was that kept you up last night,” Leroy stood pulling James up.
James wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Nobody kept me up,” James said as he followed Leroy out. “Just couldn’t sleep is all.”
“Sure,” Leroy glanced back with an eerie look as they stepped into the kitchen.
James grabbed the coffee pot and a cup. “That’s only for firefighters” Austin said, as if they were the only three there.
“Protein,” Leroy said scolding.
“Austin, didn’t even notice you without your ‘I’m with stupid tee.’” James said, pointing his finger toward the ceiling.
“We’re hitting the weights, Austin,” Leroy said. “Wanna help James’ get ready for the test?”
Austin snorted, at least they agreed on that. Good guy Leroy was always trying to have everyone get along; Austin and James would never get along.
“You’re one crazy… black guy,” Austin said. “Sorry...African-American, that’s what you people like to be called right?” he questioned in his mocking tone. James tightened his grip on the mug.
“Wasn’t born in Africa,” Leroy said, grabbing the blender. His face as calm as if he were at the beach.
“Whatever. Have fun playing with each other’s dongs,” Austin said with a frown as he stood up and walked out.