Three months?
It's really been more than three months since I posted a chapter?
No one is more shocked than me.
Donovan Pike and the City of the Gods has always been a spare-time project for me, one that I did between the zillion other details of my life.
There hasn't been a lot of spare time in recent weeks. So I have to work a little harder at carving out the necessary window to work on Pike's story.
The latest chapter is posted below.
Thanks for sticking with Pike and me. We both appreciate it.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 21
“What is it?” Pike said.
The young technician was nervous working in front of a lab full of visitors. He seemed especially anxious about the Maynard twins, stealing frequent glances at them and swallowing as he did. His Adam’s apple was the size of a walnut.
“It’s, uh, a stone hand,” he said.
Pike sighed. When his father was apart of the organization, the Ravenscroft laboratories had been among the premiere scientific investigation facilities in the world.
“We didn’t need a lab rat to tell us that,” Pug said.
“Is it part of a sculpture,” Pike said, “or is it some kind of fossil?”
“D-definitely fossil. But of what, I can’t say, not without further examination.”
That was what Elizabeth had basically told them earlier, insinuating that the giant six-fingered appendage was something that Brotherhood of the First had discovered in the recent past. After that, she clammed up. As far as Pike knew, she was roaming the hallways here, possibly making a call to her former Brotherhood cohorts.
Larry Bob Maynard loomed over the technician. “Whatchoo name, boy?”
The young lab worker swallowed again. “Doo-Doo-Dwayne,” he stuttered.
Larry Bob smiled. “Okay, Doo Doo, why don’t you get your ass movin’ on that further examination, yo?”
Dwayne nodded. He continued nodding as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Finally, he said, “May I go to the restroom, sir?”
“Go ‘head, Doo Doo,” Larry Bob said. The lab tech fled the room, hunched over like a child who was about to mess his pants.
Pike shook his head. As amusing as his friend was, he couldn’t stay in the lab any longer. There were no answers here. He wasn’t any closer to finding Gemma than he had been in Mexico.
He followed Dwayne into the hall.
“Where you headed, boss?” Pug called after him.
“To get some air.” And to ask some questions.
Once in the hallway, he and the nervous technician went in opposite directions. Pike followed discreet signs that directed him to the stairwell. He had some thinking to do, and the laboratory’s roof seemed like a good place to do it.
His head fairly buzzed from a combination of sleeplessness and caffeine. He knew he wasn’t at his best, but there was no time to rest. Pike needed to be on the move, to search for Gemma. He also wanted some answers about his father, a subject that would have to wait.
From the stairs, he heard the metal door to the roof open and he looked up as a slim figure went through the opening.
Elizabeth.
Perfect. Pike was tired of waiting for something to develop. He didn’t trust the young woman and suspected she knew far more than she was sharing. It was time to press her for information.
He reached the door and yanked it open. Elizabeth leaned on the ledge, her back to him. Dawn was still hours away, but there was enough light from the half-moon to allow them to see each other.
She turned. “Donovan?”
“We have to talk.”
“This isn’t a great time.”
“It never is,” Pike said.
“No, this really isn’t a great time.”
The white-garbed figures must have been concealed behind the small structure that housed the stairwell. There were five of them, all armed with automatic weapons.
“You guys seriously need to upgrade your stealth wardrobe,” Pike said.
He lunged at the closest man, swinging from the hips, and drove his fist into the center of the face. He felt a satisfying crunch as the man’s nose collapsed under the mask. In the faint light, Pike saw a dark stain spreading across the white material, even as he pulled the moaning thug in front of him. He needed a shield against the guns of the Brotherhood, and the man with the flattened nose would have to do.
One of the larger men in white charged at Pike like a linebacker. He spread his arms and launched himself into the Pike’s human shield. All three men tumbled to the rough surface of the roof. It felt like a horse had fallen on Pike. He squirmed his way from beneath the pile. The thug with the flattened nose lay on his back and moaned. The bigger man struggled to his feet. Pike kicked him in the face. He collapsed again on top of the other guy.
The other three Brotherhood agents had their guns pointed at Pike.
Why didn’t they shoot?
“Come on, you bastards,” Pike said, just before the cloth slipped over his face. It was drenched in liquid, something he barely had time to register before his consciousness drifted away.
Well, hell, he thought as the darkness enveloped him.
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
The young technician was nervous working in front of a lab full of visitors. He seemed especially anxious about the Maynard twins, stealing frequent glances at them and swallowing as he did. His Adam’s apple was the size of a walnut.
“It’s, uh, a stone hand,” he said.
Pike sighed. When his father was apart of the organization, the Ravenscroft laboratories had been among the premiere scientific investigation facilities in the world.
“We didn’t need a lab rat to tell us that,” Pug said.
“Is it part of a sculpture,” Pike said, “or is it some kind of fossil?”
“D-definitely fossil. But of what, I can’t say, not without further examination.”
That was what Elizabeth had basically told them earlier, insinuating that the giant six-fingered appendage was something that Brotherhood of the First had discovered in the recent past. After that, she clammed up. As far as Pike knew, she was roaming the hallways here, possibly making a call to her former Brotherhood cohorts.
Larry Bob Maynard loomed over the technician. “Whatchoo name, boy?”
The young lab worker swallowed again. “Doo-Doo-Dwayne,” he stuttered.
Larry Bob smiled. “Okay, Doo Doo, why don’t you get your ass movin’ on that further examination, yo?”
Dwayne nodded. He continued nodding as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Finally, he said, “May I go to the restroom, sir?”
“Go ‘head, Doo Doo,” Larry Bob said. The lab tech fled the room, hunched over like a child who was about to mess his pants.
Pike shook his head. As amusing as his friend was, he couldn’t stay in the lab any longer. There were no answers here. He wasn’t any closer to finding Gemma than he had been in Mexico.
He followed Dwayne into the hall.
“Where you headed, boss?” Pug called after him.
“To get some air.” And to ask some questions.
Once in the hallway, he and the nervous technician went in opposite directions. Pike followed discreet signs that directed him to the stairwell. He had some thinking to do, and the laboratory’s roof seemed like a good place to do it.
His head fairly buzzed from a combination of sleeplessness and caffeine. He knew he wasn’t at his best, but there was no time to rest. Pike needed to be on the move, to search for Gemma. He also wanted some answers about his father, a subject that would have to wait.
From the stairs, he heard the metal door to the roof open and he looked up as a slim figure went through the opening.
Elizabeth.
Perfect. Pike was tired of waiting for something to develop. He didn’t trust the young woman and suspected she knew far more than she was sharing. It was time to press her for information.
He reached the door and yanked it open. Elizabeth leaned on the ledge, her back to him. Dawn was still hours away, but there was enough light from the half-moon to allow them to see each other.
She turned. “Donovan?”
“We have to talk.”
“This isn’t a great time.”
“It never is,” Pike said.
“No, this really isn’t a great time.”
The white-garbed figures must have been concealed behind the small structure that housed the stairwell. There were five of them, all armed with automatic weapons.
“You guys seriously need to upgrade your stealth wardrobe,” Pike said.
He lunged at the closest man, swinging from the hips, and drove his fist into the center of the face. He felt a satisfying crunch as the man’s nose collapsed under the mask. In the faint light, Pike saw a dark stain spreading across the white material, even as he pulled the moaning thug in front of him. He needed a shield against the guns of the Brotherhood, and the man with the flattened nose would have to do.
One of the larger men in white charged at Pike like a linebacker. He spread his arms and launched himself into the Pike’s human shield. All three men tumbled to the rough surface of the roof. It felt like a horse had fallen on Pike. He squirmed his way from beneath the pile. The thug with the flattened nose lay on his back and moaned. The bigger man struggled to his feet. Pike kicked him in the face. He collapsed again on top of the other guy.
The other three Brotherhood agents had their guns pointed at Pike.
Why didn’t they shoot?
“Come on, you bastards,” Pike said, just before the cloth slipped over his face. It was drenched in liquid, something he barely had time to register before his consciousness drifted away.
Well, hell, he thought as the darkness enveloped him.
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 20
It was dusk when they landed at Fort Meyers. Pug radioed ahead for transportation. One of Ravencroft’s big SUVs was parked on the runway. It was empty and the keys were inside.
Pug and Andre climbed in the front. Pike was in the back with Elizabeth, so they could continue their discussion from the flight home.
“It’s a waste of time,” she said. “I’ve been to that facility. There’s nothing there.”
Pike nodded.
“So you believe me?”
“Sure,” he said. “But I have to point out that Jimmy Swift told me the same thing about the Brotherhood place down in Mexico. Right before he turned to stone.” He smiled.
Elizabeth paled. She remained silent for the remainder of the drive to Pike’s residence.
After Pike cleared the security measures, the four of them entered the large warehouse. Pug and Andre headed to the armory.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Elizabeth said. She looked like she was going to be sick.
Pike gave her directions. After she took off, the sound of a big engine came from outside.
“They’re here,” Pug said.
In a moment, they were joined by the final two members of Pike’s crew, Travis Maynard and Larry Bob Maynard, jokingly called “the twins” because of their identical surnames. Travis was tall and black, and dressed like an accountant. Larry Bob was white, big as a barn, hailed from Geogia and wore more gold chains than a Rolls Royce full of rappers.
“Good to see you, Donovan,” Travis said.
“Word,” Larry Bob added.
Pike embraced both of them, then explained the situation. The five men were mostly silent as they loaded handguns and shotguns into the SUV and the classic Impala belonging to Larry Bob.
Elizabeth returned from the restroom just as the weapons were stowed away.
“Yo, little mama.” Larry Bob grinned at her, revealing four gold teeth. With her face scrunched up in disgust, she moved closer to Pike.
He introduced the pair.
“Am I staying here?” she said.
Pike shook his head. “We may need you there. After we secure the facility, we’ll bring you in.”
“Wait,” she said. “What if the brotherhood, uh, secures you?”
Larry Bob hefted his Pancor Jackhammer automatic shotgun. “Can’t happen, yo. We gone blow up they shit.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “Lord, help us.”
Pike and Pug laughed. Andre concentrated on sharpening his knives.
Pike herded them into the vehicles. He, Pug and Elizabeth took the SUV, while the rest rode in the Impala.
As they turned onto Dr. Martin Luther King Boulevard, Pug said, “Hey, boss, does it bother you that these Brotherhood yahoos have a base 20 miles from your door?”
“A little,” Pike said.
That was the sum total of the conversation until they reached the warehouse on Sanibel Island. It was smaller than Pike’s place, sitting in the middle of a block of similar structures within sight of the Sanibel lighthouse. Pug parked about fifty yards away. The Impala pulled in behind them.
“Stay here,” Pike said to Elizabeth. He had Pug leave the keys in the ignition. Pike and his four friends walked to the lighthouse.
“What if she runs off with the truck?” Pug said.
Pike shrugged. “You can sit on Larry Bob’s lap in the Impala.”
“He be like my ventriloquist dummy,” Larry Bob said. “He ‘bout the right size.”
“Bite me,” Pug said.
“The place looks empty,” Travis said.
“Yeah,” Pike said. “Maybe Elizabeth was right.”
“We find out,” Andre said. A long knife with a serrated blade was in his left hand.
“Maynards, you and Andre find the back door.” As they moved away, Pike and Pug approached the front of the structure. Two large garage doors faced the street. Between the big doors was a smaller metal door. A glass window was set in the upper half of the door.
“Got your pry bar?” Pike said.
“I never leave for a petty crime without it,” Pug said.
“This isn’t petty,” Pike said. “Bust it.”
Pug jabbed the metal bar against the glass. The first impact produced a large crack. The second blow knocked out most of the glass. Pug used the edge of the tool to clear the jagged piece from the bottom of the window. Pike slipped his arm through the opening and unlocked the door.
They both stood outside for a moment, waiting for the wail of an alarm.
“Maybe it’s silent,” Pug said. “Wired directly into the police precinct.”
“Oh, goody,” Pike said. They walked through the door. Pike found a panel of light switches on the wall near the entrance. As the large fluorescents came on, Andre, Larry Bob and Travis entered through the back door.
There was a small enclosed space against the rear left corner, probably an office. Otherwise, the warehouse was one big room.
The warehouse was empty, save for a table in the center of the space.
Travis sniffed the air. “They haven’t been gone long.”
Pike smelled cigarette smoke.
Pug stood next to the table. “Looks like they left us something.”
The others joined him. After staring at the object on the table for a long minute, Pike said, “Somebody get the girl.”
“I’ll do it,” Larry Bob said. “She into me.”
Nobody laughed.
In a minute, he returned with Elizabeth.
“What? Did you find something?” she said.
Pike stepped aside to give her an unobstructed view of the item on the table.
It was a stone hand. It might have been chopped from the arm of a very large statue. The hand was twice the size of Andre’s, and he possessed the biggest mitts among Pike’s crew.
The stone hand also had a thumb and five fingers. It ended in a jagged stump just below the wrist. The end of the stump showed bone and, Pike presumed, veins or arteries.
He thought of the way Jimmy Swift had died. If Pike had cut off Jimmy’s stone hand, it might have looked like this.
If Swift had been a six-fingered giant.
“Tell me that’s fake,” Travis said.
“No,” Elizabeth said. “It’s not”
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Pug and Andre climbed in the front. Pike was in the back with Elizabeth, so they could continue their discussion from the flight home.
“It’s a waste of time,” she said. “I’ve been to that facility. There’s nothing there.”
Pike nodded.
“So you believe me?”
“Sure,” he said. “But I have to point out that Jimmy Swift told me the same thing about the Brotherhood place down in Mexico. Right before he turned to stone.” He smiled.
Elizabeth paled. She remained silent for the remainder of the drive to Pike’s residence.
After Pike cleared the security measures, the four of them entered the large warehouse. Pug and Andre headed to the armory.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Elizabeth said. She looked like she was going to be sick.
Pike gave her directions. After she took off, the sound of a big engine came from outside.
“They’re here,” Pug said.
In a moment, they were joined by the final two members of Pike’s crew, Travis Maynard and Larry Bob Maynard, jokingly called “the twins” because of their identical surnames. Travis was tall and black, and dressed like an accountant. Larry Bob was white, big as a barn, hailed from Geogia and wore more gold chains than a Rolls Royce full of rappers.
“Good to see you, Donovan,” Travis said.
“Word,” Larry Bob added.
Pike embraced both of them, then explained the situation. The five men were mostly silent as they loaded handguns and shotguns into the SUV and the classic Impala belonging to Larry Bob.
Elizabeth returned from the restroom just as the weapons were stowed away.
“Yo, little mama.” Larry Bob grinned at her, revealing four gold teeth. With her face scrunched up in disgust, she moved closer to Pike.
He introduced the pair.
“Am I staying here?” she said.
Pike shook his head. “We may need you there. After we secure the facility, we’ll bring you in.”
“Wait,” she said. “What if the brotherhood, uh, secures you?”
Larry Bob hefted his Pancor Jackhammer automatic shotgun. “Can’t happen, yo. We gone blow up they shit.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “Lord, help us.”
Pike and Pug laughed. Andre concentrated on sharpening his knives.
Pike herded them into the vehicles. He, Pug and Elizabeth took the SUV, while the rest rode in the Impala.
As they turned onto Dr. Martin Luther King Boulevard, Pug said, “Hey, boss, does it bother you that these Brotherhood yahoos have a base 20 miles from your door?”
“A little,” Pike said.
That was the sum total of the conversation until they reached the warehouse on Sanibel Island. It was smaller than Pike’s place, sitting in the middle of a block of similar structures within sight of the Sanibel lighthouse. Pug parked about fifty yards away. The Impala pulled in behind them.
“Stay here,” Pike said to Elizabeth. He had Pug leave the keys in the ignition. Pike and his four friends walked to the lighthouse.
“What if she runs off with the truck?” Pug said.
Pike shrugged. “You can sit on Larry Bob’s lap in the Impala.”
“He be like my ventriloquist dummy,” Larry Bob said. “He ‘bout the right size.”
“Bite me,” Pug said.
“The place looks empty,” Travis said.
“Yeah,” Pike said. “Maybe Elizabeth was right.”
“We find out,” Andre said. A long knife with a serrated blade was in his left hand.
“Maynards, you and Andre find the back door.” As they moved away, Pike and Pug approached the front of the structure. Two large garage doors faced the street. Between the big doors was a smaller metal door. A glass window was set in the upper half of the door.
“Got your pry bar?” Pike said.
“I never leave for a petty crime without it,” Pug said.
“This isn’t petty,” Pike said. “Bust it.”
Pug jabbed the metal bar against the glass. The first impact produced a large crack. The second blow knocked out most of the glass. Pug used the edge of the tool to clear the jagged piece from the bottom of the window. Pike slipped his arm through the opening and unlocked the door.
They both stood outside for a moment, waiting for the wail of an alarm.
“Maybe it’s silent,” Pug said. “Wired directly into the police precinct.”
“Oh, goody,” Pike said. They walked through the door. Pike found a panel of light switches on the wall near the entrance. As the large fluorescents came on, Andre, Larry Bob and Travis entered through the back door.
There was a small enclosed space against the rear left corner, probably an office. Otherwise, the warehouse was one big room.
The warehouse was empty, save for a table in the center of the space.
Travis sniffed the air. “They haven’t been gone long.”
Pike smelled cigarette smoke.
Pug stood next to the table. “Looks like they left us something.”
The others joined him. After staring at the object on the table for a long minute, Pike said, “Somebody get the girl.”
“I’ll do it,” Larry Bob said. “She into me.”
Nobody laughed.
In a minute, he returned with Elizabeth.
“What? Did you find something?” she said.
Pike stepped aside to give her an unobstructed view of the item on the table.
It was a stone hand. It might have been chopped from the arm of a very large statue. The hand was twice the size of Andre’s, and he possessed the biggest mitts among Pike’s crew.
The stone hand also had a thumb and five fingers. It ended in a jagged stump just below the wrist. The end of the stump showed bone and, Pike presumed, veins or arteries.
He thought of the way Jimmy Swift had died. If Pike had cut off Jimmy’s stone hand, it might have looked like this.
If Swift had been a six-fingered giant.
“Tell me that’s fake,” Travis said.
“No,” Elizabeth said. “It’s not”
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 19
Pike embraced his oldest friend.
“Good to see you, you old bulldog.”
“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me,” Pug said. He stepped back from Pike, removed his ever-present Cincinnati Reds ball cap, and bowed in the direction of Elizabeth.
“And you, my dear, are a vision of loveliness. Percival Thaddeus Benson, at your service.”
“Percival?” She seemed perplexed by the short man.
“My mother drank,” he said with a shrug. “In any case, you don’t have to worry about hanging out with my backwards friend any more. Donovan has never been kissed, so he’s a little shy around the ladies. But have no fear; a real man has arrived.”
Elizabeth glanced at Pike, who rolled his eyes.
The passenger door of the chopper opened and Andre Romanov unfolded himself from the cabin. The tall man was the chef on Pike’s yacht, but he was also one of fiercest warriors Pike had ever fought alongside. Pike specifically recalled an incident in a seedy bar in Myanmar, when Andre dispatched four opponents with a broken beer bottle.
“Hey, Mister Pike,” Andre said. His eastern European accent was gradually fading, thanks to the influence of Pug.
Pike shook Andre’s hand. “Thank for the save, pal.”
“Pug did the driving,” Andre said. “I just shoot.”
“Good shooting,” Pike said. “Not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?”
“We were bored,” Pug told him. “Sitting around Florida with nothing to do is fine if you’re, like, 90. I still have some friends at Ravencroft. They told me about Drake checkin’ in. So me and Andre caught a ride to Mexico.”
“Not on that,” Pike said, nodding toward the Apache.
“Naw. I, uh, borrowed a little jet from Ravencroft,” Pug said. “Hey, after the way they jumped us back in Somalia, they owe us.”
“Where did the chopper come from?”
“Oh, that,” Pug said. “See, there’s a Mexican girl who’s brother is in the military...”
Andre sighed loudly.
“...and she always told me if I was down this way and needed anything to give her a call.”
Pike turned to Elizabeth. “He wasn’t joking about being a ladies man.”
The petite archeologist stared at Pike’s short companion with something like amazement etched upon her pretty face.
“Oh, and boss,” Pug added, “we’ll need to reimburse the brother for the ordinance.”
Pike shook his head. He wasn’t a Ravenscroft, but thanks to his father, he had access to a good chunk of the family fortune as part of his inheritance. He also had to admit that the military chopper had come in very handy.
“Anything you need to pick up before we take off?” As Pug spoke, he kept his eyes of the demolished house. “I’d like to get out of here before I have to see–well, shit.”
Pike followed his gaze. Drake walked across the lawn toward them. His face and sling were blackened with soot, but his posture was ramrod straight.
Elizabeth stepped behind Pike. She gripped his shoulders and tried to make herself appear small.
“It’s okay,” Pike said. “He won’t hurt you.”
“But I saw him kill that man.”
Drake stopped in front of them. He looked first at Pug, then Andre. A thin smile twisted the corners of his mouth.
Andre raised his fist, which clenched a knife with a long serrated blade. “Let me give you a bigger smile, govniuk.”
“That’s Mr. Govniuk to you,” Drake said.
Pug glanced at Elizabeth. “Why is she cowering from tall, old and crewcut here? He threaten to kiss her?”
“She says she watched him murder Jimmy Swift,” Pike said.
“Jimmy? The mook who never won a hand a poker?” Pug narrowed his eyes. “You killed an old poker buddy, Drake.”
“Nope,” Drake said. “Not me.”
“He’s lying,” Elizabeth said from her place of sanctuary behind Pike.
Drake didn’t respond.
“Well?” Andre waved the knife at Drake. “You got something to say?”
“Yep.” Drake walked past them in the direction of the road. “Adios.”
“Where’s he going?” Pug said. “It ain’t like there’s a motel close by.”
“I don’t care,” Pike said. “I need to get back to Florida.”
“We can make that happen. What’s on the agenda?”
Pike started in the direction of the chopper. Elizabeth trailed him like a shadow.
“We’re going to make a house call on the Brotherhood of the First.”
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
“Good to see you, you old bulldog.”
“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me,” Pug said. He stepped back from Pike, removed his ever-present Cincinnati Reds ball cap, and bowed in the direction of Elizabeth.
“And you, my dear, are a vision of loveliness. Percival Thaddeus Benson, at your service.”
“Percival?” She seemed perplexed by the short man.
“My mother drank,” he said with a shrug. “In any case, you don’t have to worry about hanging out with my backwards friend any more. Donovan has never been kissed, so he’s a little shy around the ladies. But have no fear; a real man has arrived.”
Elizabeth glanced at Pike, who rolled his eyes.
The passenger door of the chopper opened and Andre Romanov unfolded himself from the cabin. The tall man was the chef on Pike’s yacht, but he was also one of fiercest warriors Pike had ever fought alongside. Pike specifically recalled an incident in a seedy bar in Myanmar, when Andre dispatched four opponents with a broken beer bottle.
“Hey, Mister Pike,” Andre said. His eastern European accent was gradually fading, thanks to the influence of Pug.
Pike shook Andre’s hand. “Thank for the save, pal.”
“Pug did the driving,” Andre said. “I just shoot.”
“Good shooting,” Pike said. “Not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?”
“We were bored,” Pug told him. “Sitting around Florida with nothing to do is fine if you’re, like, 90. I still have some friends at Ravencroft. They told me about Drake checkin’ in. So me and Andre caught a ride to Mexico.”
“Not on that,” Pike said, nodding toward the Apache.
“Naw. I, uh, borrowed a little jet from Ravencroft,” Pug said. “Hey, after the way they jumped us back in Somalia, they owe us.”
“Where did the chopper come from?”
“Oh, that,” Pug said. “See, there’s a Mexican girl who’s brother is in the military...”
Andre sighed loudly.
“...and she always told me if I was down this way and needed anything to give her a call.”
Pike turned to Elizabeth. “He wasn’t joking about being a ladies man.”
The petite archeologist stared at Pike’s short companion with something like amazement etched upon her pretty face.
“Oh, and boss,” Pug added, “we’ll need to reimburse the brother for the ordinance.”
Pike shook his head. He wasn’t a Ravenscroft, but thanks to his father, he had access to a good chunk of the family fortune as part of his inheritance. He also had to admit that the military chopper had come in very handy.
“Anything you need to pick up before we take off?” As Pug spoke, he kept his eyes of the demolished house. “I’d like to get out of here before I have to see–well, shit.”
Pike followed his gaze. Drake walked across the lawn toward them. His face and sling were blackened with soot, but his posture was ramrod straight.
Elizabeth stepped behind Pike. She gripped his shoulders and tried to make herself appear small.
“It’s okay,” Pike said. “He won’t hurt you.”
“But I saw him kill that man.”
Drake stopped in front of them. He looked first at Pug, then Andre. A thin smile twisted the corners of his mouth.
Andre raised his fist, which clenched a knife with a long serrated blade. “Let me give you a bigger smile, govniuk.”
“That’s Mr. Govniuk to you,” Drake said.
Pug glanced at Elizabeth. “Why is she cowering from tall, old and crewcut here? He threaten to kiss her?”
“She says she watched him murder Jimmy Swift,” Pike said.
“Jimmy? The mook who never won a hand a poker?” Pug narrowed his eyes. “You killed an old poker buddy, Drake.”
“Nope,” Drake said. “Not me.”
“He’s lying,” Elizabeth said from her place of sanctuary behind Pike.
Drake didn’t respond.
“Well?” Andre waved the knife at Drake. “You got something to say?”
“Yep.” Drake walked past them in the direction of the road. “Adios.”
“Where’s he going?” Pug said. “It ain’t like there’s a motel close by.”
“I don’t care,” Pike said. “I need to get back to Florida.”
“We can make that happen. What’s on the agenda?”
Pike started in the direction of the chopper. Elizabeth trailed him like a shadow.
“We’re going to make a house call on the Brotherhood of the First.”
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 18
A split second before the wall exploded Pike grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway.
He’d instantly recognized the signature flash of a helicopter-launched missile. This was a military attack, or an assault by someone with access to military weapons.
His ears rang from the explosion, and the back of his neck stung from some kind of shrapnel. There was no time to check it now. He towed the petite archeologist through the hall. Behind them, there was another explosion. Several framed photographs fell from the walls. Plaster dust from the ceiling coated their heads like snow.
“Nugget won’t be happy about this,” he said. His voice sounded like it was coming from under water.
“What?” Elizabeth said.
Whoever was attacking them intended to bring down the whole house. Pike would have to take his chances outside.
They made their way to the mansion’s foyer. Explosions shook the entire structure. Next to the front door one of Jiminez’s men lay unconscious or dead. A large metal shield, like something out of a Roman gladiator movie, had fallen from the wall onto his head.
Pike knelt to check his pulse. The man was gone. Reaching under the dead man’s jacket, Pike removed a gun. It was a Sig Sauer P220 Combat model with a 10-round magazine. It wasn’t much against missile-firing helicopters but it would have to do.
Pike threw open the door. The sun’s harsh glare was in sharp contrast to the rumbling explosions behind the house and the cacophonous thumping of the chopper blades. He pulled Elizabeth out of the house.
“We can’t stay here,” he said.
“What?”
He spoke louder. “We have to go. We’re going to run to the jungle, okay?”
She nodded.
With the enemy choppers concentrating on the back of the house, they would have to take an indirect route to cover. Pike would head for the road, then enter the jungle slightly north of where he and Drake had first stumbled onto Jiminez’s property.
“Let’s go.” He released Elizabeth’s hand and they ran.
They had covered less than 40 yards when one of the choppers sailed over the house. The road was at least two hundred yards away. Pike stuck out an arm to stop Elizabeth. He turned and fired at the chopper. One shot cracked the cowling in front of the pilot before the man nosed the craft up. Pike’s other shots bounced harmlessly off the undercarriage.
“Come on,” he said.
They ran toward a long detached carport. The sides were open to the air, but the roof was metal and might offer some protection.
Unless the chopper launched a Hellfire missile at them.
There were only two vehicles parked under the carport: a Mercedes SUV and a Bentley Continental Supersports convertible. Jiminez’s other transportation must have been stored somewhere else. If they were behind the house, they were probably already gone.
“Notice anything about that helicopter?”
“It was white,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think it’s the Brotherhood of the First?”
Pike nodded. “I think whoever killed Swift called in the air strike.”
“Your friend?”
“For the last time, Drake is not my friend,” Pike said. “Let’s get behind the SUV. Try to keep it between you and the chopper.”
They heard the Brotherhood’s helicopter hovering overhead. Then came the chattering of automatic gunfire. Bullets pierced the carport’s roof and shredded the top of the small convertible.
“Slide under the truck,” Pike ordered.
They both crawled under the SUV. Elizabeth fit easily. The space was cramped for Pike’s large frame, but he made it.
Once again, gunfire rained down on the carport. He heard the metal tearing into the roof of the SUV.
“What are we going to do?” Elizabeth said.
Pike wasn’t sure. He only knew that if was going to die it wouldn’t be on his back, hiding under a drug lord’s Mercedes.
When the gunfire ceased, he said, “Stay here.”
He pulled himself out from under the truck and climbed to his feet. He checked the magazine of the Sig Sauer. Six shots remained. If he chose his targets carefully, he might be able to do some damage. He stepped out of the carport’s cover just as the sound of the chopper blades doubled.
Both Brotherhood choppers were hovering over his position. They looked like Russian KA-52s, the attack helicopter of the air force there. Both were painted white. Pike couldn’t see any more missiles. Maybe all of the heavy stuff had been used on the house.
One of the KA-52s came closer to the ground. The cowling in front of the pilot was unmarked. So this was the second craft. Pike waved a hand in greeting and smiled. Two men were in the craft. One pilot and one weapons man, he guessed.
“Hey! How’s it going?” Pike shouted.
Then he raised the Sig Sauer P220 and emptied it into the pilot’s cabin. The cowling starred, then shattered. The gunner slumped in the seat. Pike saw blood spread across the chest of his white jumpsuit.
The pilot yanked the stick, and the chopper rose into the sky.
Pike tossed the empty gun away as the other helicopter opened fire again.
But the gunfire instantly stopped.
Pike heard the roar of an engine and felt the vibrations of another helicopter rotor. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked to the north.
The new arrival was a black AgustaWestland Apache, the British version of the U.S. Army’s AH-64. The Apache fired a missile. The Brotherhood chopper vanished in a ball of flames.
Pike stepped back under the flimsy protection of the carport as metal and flaming fuel and body parts fell to earth.
He heard the distinctive sound of the other KA-52 growing fainter. The other Brotherhood pilot was fleeing.
The black Apache landed lightly on the expansive front lawn. When the rotors stopped turning, the pilot’s door opened.
The man was short, but built like a fireplug. An unlit cigar was clenched between his teeth.
He removed the stogie and smiled at Pike.
Pug Benson said, “Boss, is this a good time to ask for a raise?”
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
He’d instantly recognized the signature flash of a helicopter-launched missile. This was a military attack, or an assault by someone with access to military weapons.
His ears rang from the explosion, and the back of his neck stung from some kind of shrapnel. There was no time to check it now. He towed the petite archeologist through the hall. Behind them, there was another explosion. Several framed photographs fell from the walls. Plaster dust from the ceiling coated their heads like snow.
“Nugget won’t be happy about this,” he said. His voice sounded like it was coming from under water.
“What?” Elizabeth said.
Whoever was attacking them intended to bring down the whole house. Pike would have to take his chances outside.
They made their way to the mansion’s foyer. Explosions shook the entire structure. Next to the front door one of Jiminez’s men lay unconscious or dead. A large metal shield, like something out of a Roman gladiator movie, had fallen from the wall onto his head.
Pike knelt to check his pulse. The man was gone. Reaching under the dead man’s jacket, Pike removed a gun. It was a Sig Sauer P220 Combat model with a 10-round magazine. It wasn’t much against missile-firing helicopters but it would have to do.
Pike threw open the door. The sun’s harsh glare was in sharp contrast to the rumbling explosions behind the house and the cacophonous thumping of the chopper blades. He pulled Elizabeth out of the house.
“We can’t stay here,” he said.
“What?”
He spoke louder. “We have to go. We’re going to run to the jungle, okay?”
She nodded.
With the enemy choppers concentrating on the back of the house, they would have to take an indirect route to cover. Pike would head for the road, then enter the jungle slightly north of where he and Drake had first stumbled onto Jiminez’s property.
“Let’s go.” He released Elizabeth’s hand and they ran.
They had covered less than 40 yards when one of the choppers sailed over the house. The road was at least two hundred yards away. Pike stuck out an arm to stop Elizabeth. He turned and fired at the chopper. One shot cracked the cowling in front of the pilot before the man nosed the craft up. Pike’s other shots bounced harmlessly off the undercarriage.
“Come on,” he said.
They ran toward a long detached carport. The sides were open to the air, but the roof was metal and might offer some protection.
Unless the chopper launched a Hellfire missile at them.
There were only two vehicles parked under the carport: a Mercedes SUV and a Bentley Continental Supersports convertible. Jiminez’s other transportation must have been stored somewhere else. If they were behind the house, they were probably already gone.
“Notice anything about that helicopter?”
“It was white,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think it’s the Brotherhood of the First?”
Pike nodded. “I think whoever killed Swift called in the air strike.”
“Your friend?”
“For the last time, Drake is not my friend,” Pike said. “Let’s get behind the SUV. Try to keep it between you and the chopper.”
They heard the Brotherhood’s helicopter hovering overhead. Then came the chattering of automatic gunfire. Bullets pierced the carport’s roof and shredded the top of the small convertible.
“Slide under the truck,” Pike ordered.
They both crawled under the SUV. Elizabeth fit easily. The space was cramped for Pike’s large frame, but he made it.
Once again, gunfire rained down on the carport. He heard the metal tearing into the roof of the SUV.
“What are we going to do?” Elizabeth said.
Pike wasn’t sure. He only knew that if was going to die it wouldn’t be on his back, hiding under a drug lord’s Mercedes.
When the gunfire ceased, he said, “Stay here.”
He pulled himself out from under the truck and climbed to his feet. He checked the magazine of the Sig Sauer. Six shots remained. If he chose his targets carefully, he might be able to do some damage. He stepped out of the carport’s cover just as the sound of the chopper blades doubled.
Both Brotherhood choppers were hovering over his position. They looked like Russian KA-52s, the attack helicopter of the air force there. Both were painted white. Pike couldn’t see any more missiles. Maybe all of the heavy stuff had been used on the house.
One of the KA-52s came closer to the ground. The cowling in front of the pilot was unmarked. So this was the second craft. Pike waved a hand in greeting and smiled. Two men were in the craft. One pilot and one weapons man, he guessed.
“Hey! How’s it going?” Pike shouted.
Then he raised the Sig Sauer P220 and emptied it into the pilot’s cabin. The cowling starred, then shattered. The gunner slumped in the seat. Pike saw blood spread across the chest of his white jumpsuit.
The pilot yanked the stick, and the chopper rose into the sky.
Pike tossed the empty gun away as the other helicopter opened fire again.
But the gunfire instantly stopped.
Pike heard the roar of an engine and felt the vibrations of another helicopter rotor. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked to the north.
The new arrival was a black AgustaWestland Apache, the British version of the U.S. Army’s AH-64. The Apache fired a missile. The Brotherhood chopper vanished in a ball of flames.
Pike stepped back under the flimsy protection of the carport as metal and flaming fuel and body parts fell to earth.
He heard the distinctive sound of the other KA-52 growing fainter. The other Brotherhood pilot was fleeing.
The black Apache landed lightly on the expansive front lawn. When the rotors stopped turning, the pilot’s door opened.
The man was short, but built like a fireplug. An unlit cigar was clenched between his teeth.
He removed the stogie and smiled at Pike.
Pug Benson said, “Boss, is this a good time to ask for a raise?”
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 17
Pike touched Swift’s shoulder. The shirt had the texture of rough stone.
Pike, a man who spent his life in perpetual motion, was stumped. This was beyond anything in his experience.
Seconds earlier, Swift had been alive and providing useful information. What happened in the brief time Pike was out of the room?
Drake stepped through the open doorway, adjusting the sling on his wounded arm.
“What’s the hell is this?”
Pike turned to face him. “Where were you? I told you to watch him?”
“Just a minute. You told me not to let him leave. I had to take a leak, so I cuffed him to the table.”
Pike ran a hand over his short, black hair. He heard commotion from another part of the house. Footsteps were headed his way.
Drake moved closer to the thing that had once been Swift. He leaned forward and studied the texture of the remains. “Looks like stone.”
“Thanks,” Pike said. “Big help. Really.”
Drake ignored him. “What could do this to a man?”
That was the question that gnawed at Pike. “You didn’t run into a woman with snakes for hair?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
Someone had done this to Jimmy Swift. Someone in this house. But how had it been done? Was it a disease? Another futuristic weapon?
“I am tired of this damn Brotherhood,” Pike said.
Two men stepped into the room. Once was a bodyguard Pike had never seen. He was nearly seven feet tall. The other was Jiminez.
“What have you done?” Jiminez said.
“I didn’t do that,” Pike said, poiting a thumb in the direction of Swift’s granite-like corpse.
When he saw the shock of Jiminez’s face, Pike realized Nugget had not been talking about Swift.
“Madre de Dios.”
“I saw who did it.”
They all turned to the voice in the hallway. Elizabeth Crassberg stepped forward. Her skin was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She pointed a trembling finger at Drake.
“He did it.”
Drake’s left eyebrow raised a quarter inch, but he otherwise did not react.
“He did what?” Pike said.
“He killed him. The man who saved me.” A sob broke from Elizabeth’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands.
Pike stared at Drake. “Well?”
“She’s wrong. She’s making it up or she mistook someone else for me.”
“You’ve always been a dick,” Pike said, “but a traitor...”
Drake made a noise that might have been a chuckle. It sounded like a rusted hasp on a ancient door. “If you’re worried that someone here works for the Brotherhood, then why not take a look at the gal that, you know, actually works for the Brotherhood?”
Jiminez cleared his throat. “This is very heart-warming, amigos, but I have a bigger problem.”
Pike heard the unmistakable thump of rotors. Choppers. At least two, maybe more.
“Who is that?”
“You tell me,” Jiminez said. “Your friend uses my phone and we have incoming. Is it your people? DEA? My competition?”
“He’s not my friend,” Pike said.
The choppers moved fast. The vibration from the rotors could be felt in Pike’s chest.
Outside the window of the football room he saw a flash like the lighting of a very bright flare. He instantly knew it was far more dangerous than simple illumination.
“Move!” he shouted.
The window and surrounding wall collapsed with a thunderous roar.
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Pike, a man who spent his life in perpetual motion, was stumped. This was beyond anything in his experience.
Seconds earlier, Swift had been alive and providing useful information. What happened in the brief time Pike was out of the room?
Drake stepped through the open doorway, adjusting the sling on his wounded arm.
“What’s the hell is this?”
Pike turned to face him. “Where were you? I told you to watch him?”
“Just a minute. You told me not to let him leave. I had to take a leak, so I cuffed him to the table.”
Pike ran a hand over his short, black hair. He heard commotion from another part of the house. Footsteps were headed his way.
Drake moved closer to the thing that had once been Swift. He leaned forward and studied the texture of the remains. “Looks like stone.”
“Thanks,” Pike said. “Big help. Really.”
Drake ignored him. “What could do this to a man?”
That was the question that gnawed at Pike. “You didn’t run into a woman with snakes for hair?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
Someone had done this to Jimmy Swift. Someone in this house. But how had it been done? Was it a disease? Another futuristic weapon?
“I am tired of this damn Brotherhood,” Pike said.
Two men stepped into the room. Once was a bodyguard Pike had never seen. He was nearly seven feet tall. The other was Jiminez.
“What have you done?” Jiminez said.
“I didn’t do that,” Pike said, poiting a thumb in the direction of Swift’s granite-like corpse.
When he saw the shock of Jiminez’s face, Pike realized Nugget had not been talking about Swift.
“Madre de Dios.”
“I saw who did it.”
They all turned to the voice in the hallway. Elizabeth Crassberg stepped forward. Her skin was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She pointed a trembling finger at Drake.
“He did it.”
Drake’s left eyebrow raised a quarter inch, but he otherwise did not react.
“He did what?” Pike said.
“He killed him. The man who saved me.” A sob broke from Elizabeth’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands.
Pike stared at Drake. “Well?”
“She’s wrong. She’s making it up or she mistook someone else for me.”
“You’ve always been a dick,” Pike said, “but a traitor...”
Drake made a noise that might have been a chuckle. It sounded like a rusted hasp on a ancient door. “If you’re worried that someone here works for the Brotherhood, then why not take a look at the gal that, you know, actually works for the Brotherhood?”
Jiminez cleared his throat. “This is very heart-warming, amigos, but I have a bigger problem.”
Pike heard the unmistakable thump of rotors. Choppers. At least two, maybe more.
“Who is that?”
“You tell me,” Jiminez said. “Your friend uses my phone and we have incoming. Is it your people? DEA? My competition?”
“He’s not my friend,” Pike said.
The choppers moved fast. The vibration from the rotors could be felt in Pike’s chest.
Outside the window of the football room he saw a flash like the lighting of a very bright flare. He instantly knew it was far more dangerous than simple illumination.
“Move!” he shouted.
The window and surrounding wall collapsed with a thunderous roar.
To Be Continued
© Mark Justice 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Start Looking
My collection Looking at the World With Broken Glass in My Eye is now available for pre-order from Graveside Tales. For a limited time, as they say on TV, the book is only $13.95.
It's over 100,000 words of chills (with the occasional chuckle thrown in). It's reprints the sold-out Deadneck Hootenanny (thus the chuckles) and includes two previously unpublished novellas.
Get your copy by heading over here.
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