Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)
Page 34
His sclera faded to white with his shrinking muscles as he directed his attention to the source of the noise. He dropped the man on his back, and Hutchins spine nearly rendered him, immobile. The curious teenager glanced in the direction the tiger nodded, toward. He saw some pills in a bottle, picked them up, and looked at the label: SLEEPING PILLS.
“I bet you placed these in the water you gave me and placed me in his cage while I was unconscious!” reasoned the young man.
Hutchins' furrowed brow faced the tiger. He felt the circulation of blood returning to his back and raised himself from the ground, quickly turned, and walked over toward the jungle cat. Trouble stood still with his shoulder drooped and his feet separated by a twelve inches and a blank expression.
“I’ll teach you to mess with me you good-for-nothing tiger!” screamed Hutchins as he raised his foot above the animal’s head.
“I would not do that if I were you,” snickered Trouble. Hutchins ignored the adolescent’s warning as swung his foot in the feline’s direction. The agile feline easily caught the man’s shoe with its teeth and ran. The tiger drug the antagonist as helplessly as a piece of string. Dust increasingly flew with the cat’s escalating speed, resulting in the man helplessly dragging across the ground's rocky surface. The tiger made circles in the dirt, repeatedly.
The Louisiana Native did something he had not done in a very long time: he fell on his left arm, rolled through the dirt, and laughed until his sides began aching. The amused spectator glanced in the tiger's direction to see thick clouds of brown dust. The amused observer rose from the ground and ran toward the dirty puff.
“Stop! Stop!” shouted the running adolescent.
The vengeful tormentor stood with the dust settling and Hutchins gasping for breath.
“Are you actually trying to help a man who wanted me to eat you?” asked the feline with disbelief.
“No, I do not want to lose my friend because he did something to someone who is not worth it!”
“Thank you! Thank you! I —” started the frightened, conniving man.
“You really need to shut up because I could care less what happens to you! I just do not want my friend to get in trouble or develop a guilty conscious!” clarified the angry juvenile as he pointed to the tiger.
“I can easily get the police over here if I yell!” threatened the man. Trouble rolled his eyes toward the top of his head.
“Dead men don’t scream! Your throat would be missing before your voice could be heard if I really cared! Either one of us can easily kill you before you could blink! You are still making threats when either of us could put you to sleep, permanently. You obviously don’t have any sense! Anyway, I wonder whatever happened to Mr. Scottsdale?” scowled Trouble.
“That’s what the police would like to ask you. You were one of the last people to see him, alive. I thought the authorities should know that!” volunteered Mr. Hutchins. Trouble's sclera began changing ruby-red until Hutchins felt his back sliding across the rocks, again.
“What is this beast about to do to me?!”
“Why are you asking me for? I thought you were the trainer, Mr. ’Don’t-mind that-lazy-creature-sometimes-I-wonder-if-it-is-a-real-tiger!’”
The man's heartbeat steadily increased, sweat saturated his whole body within seconds, his pulse quickened, and his head became light before abruptly stopping with his back striking a tree's trunk. He opened his eyes with familiar, black lips that he used to dominantly strike and crush, salivating above him. He closed his eyes expecting immense pain to precede permanent sleep. He suddenly felt something warm, putrid, and unusually moist on his face. The man opened his eyes and saw something brown and sticky as the tiger walked, away.
Trouble’s new friend walked toward him and communicated telepathically, “Damned fool!”
“I tried to tell him. What did you do to him behind that tree, anyway?!”
“Sometimes, you have to let a fool be a fool. Anyway, I gave him a goodbye present."
"He should feel lucky! I never got anything, not even for Christmas!"
“Trust me, Trouble. You would not want this present!" snickered the tiger, telepathically. They both laughed before they heard sirens. The attentive pedestrian turned around to walk toward the sound. The tiger mentally shouted, “What do you think you are doing?!”
“I am gonna to explain what happened to the police,” declared Trouble.
“Sure. No problem. You, a black boy, are going to explain why there is a collapsed tent full of dead animals, a dead man missing his bowels, and an owner who has disappeared with no one around to verify your testimony. That does not pose a problem at all,” replied the tiger, sarcastically.
“You know what? I believe the police are fully capable of figuring this out on their own,” asserted Trouble as he sprinted away.
“I am surprised you were not wondering how all of the animals got free?” mentioned Grimaldi while sprinting beside him.
“I was so busy fighting tigers (no offense intended), lions, demons, demonic women, and surviving it slipped my mind.”
“No offense taken. Mr. Hutchins was doing something scandalous. He was unlocking all of the animal’s cages and leaving their doors slightly open. He was planning something, but who knows what, maybe fraud, maybe sabotage? Who knows?”
“Who cares? We cannot change anything that happened and the circus is ruined. Plus, I could not help even if I wanted. I feel sorry for Mr. Scottsdale to have such a dirty snake in his midst. He is actually the first white man who gave me some type of respect and decent treatment besides a person I met when I was in Baton Rouge.”
“Trouble, I have to give you credit: you can fight, but you are slower than molasses!”
“What! Why do you say that?”
“You run pretty slowly for someone trying to avoid the police.”
“I run pretty fast for a human being!”
“That’s not saying a whole lot!”
Trouble gave the tiger a challenging glance, and he
returned it. They suddenly sprinted at speeds which could not be seen by human eyes as they communicated with one another, telepathically.
“Anyway, I was wondering if there is a name I can refer to you as besides tiger?”
“I never really needed a name before; most tigers identify each other with scent glands. Plus, we also use feces and urine to mark our territories.”
“You got the nerve to call me nasty!”
“I never said you were nasty. I said that you stink.
“Either way, no one ever identified me by my scent or odor.”
“Well, what do you want to do about it?”
“I suggest you get a name.”
“Do you have anything in mind?”
“Most housecats ha—.”
“First of all, I am not a housecat, and if you ever think about calling me Tabby, I’ll rip you open and scatter your organs like confetti at Mardi Gras!”
“Relax, I would like to suggest a name I saw in a textbook I… borrowed without permission.”
“Well, this should be interesting. I am getting a name from an unidentified, stolen book.”
“Well, I can always use Tabby,” suggested the human sprinter in a playfully antagonistic manner.
“If you do, you better not go to sleep; you may not wake up!” suggested the tiger.
“I like the name ‘cause it seems to suggest power. It belonged to a statesman during the Crusades, and the name became associated with a powerful, family dynasty.”
“How would a boy from rural Baton Rouge, Louisiana know about an ancient civilization that no longer exists?”
“How does a tiger know anything about ancient civilizations, manners, or etiquette? By the way, I read every book that I have ever sto— I meant borrowed.”
“Whatever! Anyway, do you have a point? What is the name that you have in mind?”
“Grimaldi.”
“I can tolerate it.”
Fields of wheat
appeared as yellow streaks as they raced past the various trees, forests, and clearings in the area well into the rising sun.
TURN THE PAGE TO READ AN EXCERPT
_______________________________________
Trouble’s Always
Watching
VOLUME 2
___________________________________________
By
Courtney L. Smith
Tenesha’s eyes became glowing crimson after a single blink. The background shifted like the passing of a beam from a lighthouse before screams interrupted her thought. Tenesha followed the shouts through a small hallway into a room to see a disgustingly familiar figure sitting on top of a smaller woman upon a disheveled bed. He held her wrists with a single hand as he buttons ricocheted from her blouse around the room. He tore the defenseless young girl’s sleeves off before a feminine hand grabbed the large man by the collar and threw him against the wall. He trembled as he saw the familiar face of the young woman.
The potential victim pulled the cover upon herself as she saw the mysterious teenager standing in the center of the room. Tenesha looked over to the potential victim and asked, “Are you okay?” The frightened, young woman nodded her head as she trembled with the covers wrapped around herself. Tyrone attempted to ease out of the room before a powerful grasp held him in place. He looked at her and asked, “Are you going to kill me?”
“No, that would be too good for you. I have something else in mind.”
“What!” The man was suddenly knocked unconscious.
The large, man woke up to feel the cool surface of a shiny, concrete floor that was covered with an industrial sealant. He opened his eyes and noticed his skin was really sensitive to the area around him. Self-consciousness inundated him as he realized something very unsettling: he was completely naked. He saw some active, washing machines making a great deal of noise. The man slowly eased along the floor because he did not want anyone to see his nudity. He looked behind him to see his captor standing over him. Tenesha looked at him and laughed, softly.
“Why are you laughing?” The teenager looked down upon the man and spoke.
“Because there is more than one way to cook an egg. I don’t have to lay a finger on you from here on out.”
“You can’t hurt me. I have my rights!”
“Tyrone, I would keep my voice down if I were you,” laughed the adolescent.
“You can’t stop me from screaming for help!”
His echoes reverberated throughout the corridors until they stopped with several hands and arms tackling him to the ground. A flurry of orange scrambled around him and pinned him. One man resembling Kimbo Slice placed his finger upon his lips as he held a shank near Tyrone’s throat. He suddenly felt himself being lifted from the ground and pressed against the wall as the group leaned into him and invaded every form of personal space, imaginable. Tyrone peered through the crowd to see Tenesha smiling out of the men’s view as she mouthed “Trouble’s always watching” before disappearing.
Upcoming Titles
The Trouble Series:
Trouble’s Always Watching Volume 2
Born with Trouble
Trouble Never Dies
99 Troubles
America’s Most Troubled
Fit For Trouble
Pray For Trouble
100% Pure Trouble
Double Trouble
Trouble’s on the Rise
Other upcoming Titles:
The Black Scarlett Series:
The Hunt for Black Scarlett
The Cardinal Queen
Blackout
The Dirty Disciples
Author’s Page
Courtney L. Smith is the Founder of Spiritscribe Publishing, LLC and the creator of the Trouble Series: one of the first urban fantasies featuring African American characters.
Courtney L. Smith (born April 8, 1976), who sometimes writes under C.L. Smith, is an African American author and playwright. His most popular work is the first book of The Trouble Series (Trouble’s Always Watching: Volume One). He often endured hardship with dead-end jobs and unemployment. He wrote his first book (Johnny Ray Is Watching) when he was not searching for work. He founded his own company and published numerous titles after enduring his own difficulties with the publishing company that initially published him. He holds numerous events for training and helping new writers and authors called Scribing Genesis Workshops. This is based upon his book Scribing Genesis: Quickstart Writing For Beginners.
Courtney L. Smith
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