by Jonas Saul
Fuccini turned to his man closest to the bikers and said something Darwin couldn’t hear.
The man lowered his weapon, chambered a round, and fired.
The head of the first biker came clean off, the sound of the weapon coming across the fifteen-foot distance like an explosion.
The biker’s headless body stayed upright for a moment, and then slowly teetered forward, finally falling on its chest.
The last two bikers screamed behind their gags. It sounded like a barrage of threats.
Darwin broke out in a sweat. His body shook all over. He’d seen a lot of shit in the past few days, but watching a man’s head disappear in a vapor of blood and brain made him want to throw up.
He leaned forward and held his stomach with both hands. He couldn’t have anyone else die because of this mess. Too many had. His conscience couldn’t handle it. He thought it would be simple. He thought he’d walk away the victor. But all along, he had been lucky while he underestimated the man who did this for a living. A man who made this a way of life. He could never be better at out-thinking someone like Fuccini. That was why he was the boss.
Another shot rang out. But this time it came from the back of the building.
“Good. There goes Rosina. Oh, I’m sorry Darwin. Is the loss of someone you love hurting you? How about the loss of my only son? Do you know what I do to people who even raise their hands to me? Do you even know the kind of man I am?”
He walked over to Darwin and patted him on the back. “Darwin, my worthy opponent. I’ll give you that. Not many men get me. You got me. You hurt my organization. Actually, you’re either really good or really lucky. You even gave me pause. I said to myself, maybe this is a trap. It couldn’t be that easy. I’ll force your hand. I’ll get you to come with Rosina. But you didn’t. You had bikers help you. How the hell you orchestrated that, I’ll never know.”
“A book.”
Fuccini leaned closer and patted him down, feeling for a wire or a weapon.
“A book? Oh, that’s fantastic. That is amazing. You’re going to write a book for them. I saw your profile. Smart thinking on your part. Tell them to rough us up and you’ll do some sort of glamorous part for them in your next best-selling thriller. Smart, I like that.”
They stood and faced each other.
“You know, Darwin, you had me so worried that you’d walk away tonight, that I sent out the order to kill you on sight in the event that I died here. Do you know what that means? Even if I’m killed, you still die. I have hundreds of hit men. I have staff on fourteen different police forces, including the FBI. I have friends in Italy. Until you die, this will never end. That’s how serious I am.”
Darwin nodded. He suspected as much.
“You became, all on your own, Fuccini family enemy number one.”
“That sounds like an honor.” Darwin looked around at the dark night, but it wasn’t working like it used to. He couldn’t locate the violent anger triggers inside. “Pull a knife on me.” That’ll work. It has to.
“Pull a knife? No, I don’t think so. You’re going to be shot in each foot with that gun so there’ll be no more running. Then I’ll toss you in the trunk until we get back to my place where I will treat you to days upon days of a certain kind of painful pleasure—”
The sound of another boom came from behind the hangar.
Fuccini looked over at the corner where his two men had disappeared minutes ago.
“Why would there be two shots if there’s only one girl? Johnny, go find out what’s happening.”
One of the two men covering the bikers ran off.
“Now, where were we?” Fuccini asked.
He walked over to Darwin’s dad, leaned down and checked his pulse.
“Yes, still breathing and bleeding. Not long now though. Another day of this agony and he’ll be dead.”
He whispered to Adrian, loud enough for Darwin to hear, “We’ll be leaving in five minutes. So sorry you can’t join us.”
Darwin ducked as another crack from the huge weapon resounded. The remaining guard raised his and aimed it at the corner of the building where his colleague had just gone.
“Do you know something I should know, Darwin?” Fuccini asked, and then turned to his guard. “Let’s get ready to clear out. Kill these two fucking bikers and then we’re gone. Bring Darwin to the car. Put him in the trunk.”
Fuccini stepped away and then ducked so hard he almost fell over when someone shuffled up close to him.
Darwin’s dad had gotten to his feet and had hobbled to Fuccini with a large stone in his hand.
“Dad, no!”
The guard turned toward him. A shot rang out.
Darwin closed his eyes and fell to his knees. He thought he heard a siren in the distance, but soon realized it wasn’t a siren. His ears were ringing.
When he opened his eyes, his father lay on the ground holding his wounded stomach.
To the right, the guard still stood, but he now had a large hole in his abdomen. He looked down at his wound, then at Fuccini, and then dropped to his knees. He face planted and didn’t move.
“Sorry I’m late for the party,” Richard H said, his weapon trained on Fuccini. “Darwin! Snap out of it. Untie my men. Now!”
Darwin got to his feet and had both of them untied in thirty seconds. They ran for Fuccini, but H kept them back.
“Darwin, you have a beef with this man? If you do, speak now before we tear him apart.”
Darwin thought about it. They had both lost everything. Even when Fuccini was gone and buried, the hit on Darwin’s head was still out there. Nothing would return to normal. It was over and yet, just beginning.
“Fuccini and I are done. Do with him what you will.”
Fuccini, for all his mutterings about torture, looked pretty scared with H holding onto the collar of his shirt, the large weapon’s business end pushed up under his chin.
“Say goodbye,” H said.
Fuccini looked at Darwin and said, “I’ll see you in hell.”
H lowered the weapon and placed it against Fuccini’s left arm at the elbow. He pulled the trigger and the bottom half of Fuccini’s arm flew off.
Darwin tried to look away but his brain registered the flying arm.
He ran for his father and knelt beside him.
“Dad, help’s coming. We’ll get you to a hospital.”
The gun fired again behind him. Fuccini’s other arm was missing now. Fuccini screamed so loud, they all missed the police sirens, but everyone turned at the red flashing lights.
H brought the weapon down to Fuccini’s crotch and lowered the butt of the gun to the dirt.
“Sorry I don’t get more time dismembering you for what you did to my club members and our friend Darwin. You got lucky, asshole. When we’re done here, we’re going after anything with the name Fucconi.”
H fired, and Fuccini was virtually split in half by the explosion.
The bikers wiped splattered blood from their faces.
H tossed the gun off to the side.
A line of cruisers pulled into the parking lot and quickly surrounded them.
Men in uniform and men in suits, weapons out, screamed for everyone to get down.
#
The statements read that Fuccini came to kill everyone and, in their defense, Richard H and his two surviving club members were lucky enough to get the upper hand at the end. Darwin’s father was stabbed, and Richard grabbed a gun, shot the last guard, then slid in like he was stealing home plate, shooting straight up into Fuccini himself. When asked why the man’s arms were missing, H explained how his first shots had missed and gone wild. At least that was what he thought happened. He said he had no idea he’d made contact with Fuccini’s arms.
Darwin concurred on everything. That’s how it happened.
Officers escorted Darwin and Rosina to the hospital to be with Darwin’s father. Rosina’s parents showed up to watch over him in his room too. They agreed that it was overdue for all
of them to meet and start getting along.
The whole time, Darwin kept his eye on everyone. He watched all the cops, the doctors and the nurses, every minute, looking for someone to pull out a knife, a gun, or some other kind of weapon, looking to slice into him.
He didn’t take what Fuccini said lightly. He knew they were coming, he just couldn’t tell when or how.
But he knew they were coming.
Chapter 19
Two months later …
Darwin opened the curtains in the kitchen and looked out at the morning sunshine. He loved turning off the night lights in the morning and letting in the bright sunshine.
It had been a long, hard road since the night at the hangar. He was writing again and loving it, even though he wrote under a pseudonym.
Rosina really enjoyed her new home in sunny Florida.
The FBI had thrown them into the witness protection program within two weeks of Fuccini’s death.
The two bikers that had been tied up and gagged were gunned down within days of each other, and Darwin’s name was scrawled across their chests in blood.
Richard H went into hiding, but they found him a week later. He fought hard and killed four men with his bare hands, even after they shot him three times. Darwin visited him in the hospital. H would live and walk again. The FBI were putting him into the program too.
When Darwin went to visit H in the hospital, they tried to kill Darwin again. But they’d made a mistake. A man posing as a doctor turned on Darwin with a long needle and charged at him.
At the sight of the needle, all Darwin saw was blind rage. He lunged at the doctor. That lunge saved him as the needle had been thrust forward and when Darwin dove, it passed his arm by an inch.
The fake doctor’s neck had broken when he was thrown out the fourth story hospital window. How he was already missing fingers and one eye, Darwin claimed he had no idea. He couldn’t remember much after seeing the needle.
The FBI, for the public’s safety, and Darwin’s, had elected that he and his wife, Rosina, would have to go into hiding for good.
They allowed Darwin and H to email each other as H was detailing his life story so Darwin could write the promised book, which Darwin was writing with vigor.
“Another beautiful day,” Rosina said as she entered the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”
“I thought you said you were making breakfast this morning?” Darwin pleaded.
“I am, I am. I’m just joking. We’re married now, Mr Kostas. I get to joke around with you.”
He rushed her, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. “Yes, we are married. I’m your husband. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?”
“It sure does.”
“Let’s have French toast and drown it in Canadian maple syrup … and coffee. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.”
They kissed long and hard.
“Maybe we should go and have some sticky first? Then have the pancakes?”
“Sticky? You want sex now? Or pancakes?” he asked. “I said French toast, woman,” he said, in his deepest voice.
She laughed and pulled away. “Okay, breakfast and then sticky.”
He smiled.
I forgot how good life could be without the threat of death over my head.
Rosina had taken the mint tree and adult store rationale well. She’d playfully slapped him when he told her. She understood how innocent it was and didn’t care if he was in an adult store.
Mint tree was delivered with their groceries each week.
Which reminds me. Today is delivery day.
“Rosina, honey. I’m going to head down to the main gate and unlock it for Bruce to bring up our grocery order.”
“You got it. I’ll have breakfast ready when you return.”
He put on his slippers and stepped outside into the already warm sun. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
Amazing.
At the end of the path, he flicked the small button that allowed entry/exit and stepped out onto the driveway. He walked down it and swung his arms in a carefree attitude. Life was great. They were in hiding. He could relax. Let things go. He could write. He could love his wife.
They both missed their parents, but that was the way of things. Stay alive and miss them or visit them once or twice before being murdered.
They chose life.
At the end of the driveway, a tall wrought iron gate stopped anyone from coming in unless it was open or they owned a tank.
The usual guard wasn’t there.
“Hey Mike, you around?”
No one answered.
That’s weird.
Then Rosina screamed.
He spun on his heels, chanting no over and over.
A man stood behind him, a gun in his hand.
“Don’t be stupid. There’s a guard patrolling the yard. When he is dead, we can leave. In the meantime, come with me.”
Darwin couldn’t believe it. How could they be that good?
They got to the house and entered through the front door. Darwin was led into the kitchen, the gun in the small of his back.
A man stood next to Rosina, a gun trained on her, eating Darwin’s French toast.
“This is good. You should try some,” he gestured at his partner.
“Not now, asshole. We have to get that last guard.”
“I’m eating. You go and get him. I’ll watch these two.”
The guy closest to Darwin spun so fast Darwin didn’t see it coming. A large fist hit him in the face and knocked him clean off his feet. Rosina screamed.
“This one is feisty, so I’ve been told. Make sure he stays on the floor until I come back.”
“No problem,” the other guy said, his mouth full. “Just go and get back here.”
The guy who brought Darwin into the kitchen walked out.
Rosina stared at Darwin. The guy at the table was still eating, not taking his eyes off the two of them.
Darwin knew that Rosina only did what she knew might work. He forgave her for her actions even before she did it.
She reached behind her, grabbed the knife holder set and knocked it over. She raised her hands to show they were empty and yelled she was sorry.
The guy didn’t shoot her. He didn’t know the knives slid along the counter. One of them, the long bread knife, fell off and hit Darwin in the leg.
Nothing in a long time made him feel that violently angry. He launched off the floor and dove at the man so fast the guy didn’t even get a chance to flip off the safety on his weapon.
Another man murdered.
Darwin stepped outside and went hunting for the enemy.
It would never stop.
He would be ready.
For Darwin and Rosina, a new life was unfolding.
For them, killing was just the beginning.
They could never go back to the way things were.
Marriage was just the beginning.
’Til death …
The Crypt - A Preview
An excerpt from The Crypt, Book Three of the Sarah Roberts series.
Chapter 1
Sarah Roberts stood on the darkened street in the eighth district of Budapest and waited to be attacked. This was her third time venturing out in the middle of the night in search of a would-be attacker.
She’d been in Budapest now for over four weeks and her sister Vivian hadn’t said anything since her arrival. All she had was the final note her dead sister made her write telling her that Armond Stuart had fled to Hungary. Sarah had no specific idea where Armond was either.
At war with herself and out of communication with her parents and the few people she had grown to trust, Sarah felt truly alone.
It was just after two in the morning. She hoped that the dress would attract the wrong kind of attention. She wasn’t trying to look like a prostitute, just vulnerable. The knee-length dress was decorated with a pretty floral pattern. This was the shortest dres
s she would ever wear. No miniskirts. Not even for this. Her top wasn’t revealing at all. The red angora sweater gave nothing away. Jeans were her norm, but sacrifices had to be made when one wants to be attacked.