Sokolov's Wisdom

"If a million good deeds are done, it will only make a small dent in the bad deeds done," Sokolov said, "That is why we must die. Because we are evil."
"Not all of us are evil." I said.
"Enough of us are evil enough that those of us who are good will do nothing."
Sokolov took a long drag of his cigar and rested his arm back on his knee.
"We allow bad things to happen because to stop those things would mean to lose too much." He said. "Then after it's already too late we know we should do something. Only after it's too late..."
Sokolov trailed off as he looked out the window at the clouds. I watched him follow them for a while.
"What should I do?" I asked.
He kept staring out the window.
"Sokolov, what should I do?"
He turned around to face me and looked deeply into my eyes. His glance was piercing, intimidating. For the first time, I forgot about Aspen Heights.
"If I were you," Sokolov said, taking another drag of his cigar, "I would run."

Chapter Whatever

            Kate’s eyes leapt to the knife on the dresser. If she could only get to it before Darren, she had a chance.

            Darren lifted the vase over his head and heaved. Kate ducked, and the vase crashed against the wall behind her.

            “Why are you doing this?” Kate hollered.

            Darren shrugged. “It’s my job?” he said.

            Then he reached for the foot stool near the end of the bed and picked it up. Kate made a jump over the bed while Darren threw the foot stool. It hit her in the small of her back. She cringed and fell over.

            Darren grabbed for Kate but she kicked him in the neck. He kept grabbing for her, and she kicked her legs as hard and as fast as she could. One of her heels hit him square in the eye socket and he wrenched backwards, holding his eye in pain.

            Kate crawled off the bed and grabbed the knife. She turned around and swung, catching Darren in the upper arm. He let out a yelp, and Kate tried to run past him toward the sliding glass door. Darren tackled her, and they both crashed through to the back porch. Kate smacked her head on the deck hard.

            She lay on the ground, dazed. Darren managed to get to his feet rather quickly. He circled around Kate, like a hyena approaching a kill.

            “How long did you think you could go about this? Did you really believe we wouldn’t find you?”

            “I thought you were my friend.” Kate said through gritted teeth.

            Darren laughed, then crouched down next to Kate.

            “The funny thing about friends Kate,” He said, grasping the back of her shirt, “Is they’re usually not who you think they are.”

            With this Darren stood up and launched Kate like a discus across the yard. She landed hard, knocking the wind out of her. She thought she heard a few ribs crack.

            “Kate!” Darren yelled, “Where’s the old man now?” He looked over both of his shoulders.

            “No one to save you here.”

            Kate stood up, in pain, holding her side. She looked at Darren. He was bleeding from the eyebrow where she had kicked him. His eyes had a crazed look in them. She had once thought he was handsome, but now he just looked ugly. He had bits of glass caught in his jacket.

            Wait, Kate thought, Glass.

            “Remember the old days at the office Kate?” Darren said. “Those were the days. Me, a simple IT mechanic, you, the lonely copyeditor. It could have been a brilliant romance Kate.”

            She looked at the shattered bits of glass on the porch, concentrated on them hard. The started to move and rise.

            “Too bad I have to kill you Kate. I would have liked to have had one last date.”

            Kate lifted the glass pieces and encircled Darren with them, surrounding him in a whirling cyclone of glass shards.

            “What are you doing Kate?” Darren said with fear in his voice.

            “Tell me where my sister is!” Kate yelled.

            “You know I can’t do that Kate.” Darren said.

            Kate moved one of the glass pieces a little closer. It cut Darren’s shoulder.

            “Where is she?” Kate yelled.

            “You don’t want to do this.”

            For a moment, Darren and Kate locked eyes.

            Then Kate pushed Darren back with all of her might, letting the glass pieces fall beside him. He flew through the house, smashing through the walls on his way out the other side.

            Kate jumped onto the porch and walked through the hole in her house to where Darren had landed on the other side. He was laying on his side in a pile of debris, coughing. His clothes had new blood stains and as Kate approached him, she saw him cough up blood. He turned over and looked up at her.

            “Tell me where my sister is.”

            “No.”

            She punched him.

            “Tell me where my sister is.”

            “No.” He said more emphatically.

            She punched him again and grabbed his collar with one hand.

            “Tell me where my sister is or I do this.”

            With her free hand she put her fingers together as if she were about to snap.

            Darren’s eyes got wide. His eyes fixed on her hand.

            “Please don’t do that.”

            “If you tell me where my sister is, I won’t have to.” Kate said.

            They stood like statues in that position-Kate, unyielding, Darren, unwilling to talk-for what seemed like eternity. Then Kate shook Darren and yelled.

            “Last chance!”

            “I can’t tell you. You have to believe me. If I tell you then He gets involved, and we really, really don’t want that.”

            Kate paused, considering his words. She stood over Darren, her heart pounding in her ears and her head racing to the beat. Her emotions matched her adrenaline as she looked down at possibly the only face that knew where her sister was.

            “Please let me go.” Darren said.

             

To anyone stopping by:

If you like my stories, check out my other blog Before the Cut. It's a little more professional, a little more current events. It's a collection of the articles I wrote for my school paper before they were sent to the editor. So if you have a minute, click on the link and check it out. It would be nice.

Waffles

"Please sir, no! I swear it was beyond my control! I had no ide-" his body flew across the hall and crashed against the bookshelf. He fell to the floor, and books rained down around him. In pain, he pulled himself out from underneath a stack of encyclopedias and crawled on his knees towards the looming figure.

"There's no way I could have known! I did everything I could, you must believe me!" Suddenly, the man grabbed Ramon by the throat and lifted him up off the ground untill he was at eye level. Ramon peered into his master's eyes. They were blood red.

"That's the problem Ramon," the assailant said, "I don't." He flung Ramon up. Ramon's body bounced off the ceiling, and as he fell back towards the earth, the man spun around lightning-quick and kicked him square in the chest. The impact folded Ramon's small, slightly overweight body and sent him flying. He crashed through the bookshelf and smashed through the stucco wall into the room beyond. Strewn with debris, the room lightly resembled the site of a recent demolition. Ramon struggled up onto his knees. He coughed and clutched his chest while the dust settled around him. As the man approached, he still managed to croak out a plea.

"Please, don't kill me…" He coughed loudly.

"My friend," the man said calmly in a deep voice as he crouched down beside Ramon's broken form, "I'm not going to kill you." Ramon looked up and smiled brightly. A tooth fell out of his bloody mouth.

"They are."

As he said those words, a sound like the crack of a whip reverberated throughout the room. The air next to the man seemed to vibrate, and then suddenly it tore open. Out of the shapeless void crawled two fearsome dog-like creatures the size of tigers. The beasts were pitch black, with glowing red eyes and a mouth full of gnarled, ferocious teeth. Rancid drool dripped from their lips and like acid, burned the hardwood floor. Smoke seemed to billow from their bodies and rapidly dissipate. They looked at Ramon and snarled, clawing the ground with their thick, muscular legs in anticipation.

"Eat him." The man instructed his pets.                                                                                     

"Slowly."

Fireside Room

       Kate stared silently out the window of the green Honda element. She could hear the tires making a steady sloshing kind of sound as they ran through the water flowing over the road. It was raining outside, and she hated the rain. Something about it just put her in a bad mood. She turned and looked at the young woman driving the car. She was tall for a girl, about five foot eleven, with medium length blonde hair and a very attractive face. Too attractive.
       Kate had always been jealous of her sister's beauty. Ever since they were kids in high school and all the boys used hit on Denise, and not her, she had wanted to look like her sister. She used to dye her hair blonde from its original brown, paint her toenails, and wear a whole bunch of makeup. There used to be bags and bags full of the stuff in front of her bedroom mirror, not to mention a whole mess of belly button rings and lipstick. But no matter how much she wore, the boys kept hitting on Denise, and not her. In the years since high school Kate had long since stopped wearing the silly children's playthings, and limited herself to a more mature beautifying arrangement.
       One of the passing tree branches caught her attention, and Kate looked back out the window. The underbrush along the road was all very green, probably because of the massive amount of rain that seemed to always be falling on this part of town. It was kind of pretty in a way. The underbrush that is, not the rain.
       "There's nothing more depressing than rain." Kate said to no one in particular. "These stupid grey clouds dump water all over everything until the only stuff that isn't wet is inside."
       Denise looked over at her sister. "Or waterproof." She said with a grin.
       "Whatever."
       Denise laughed and looked back towards the road. "So when you see him, what are you gonna say? Have you even thought about it yet?"
       "Oh, I've thought about it. Believe me." Kate put her head on her hand and rested her elbow on the door's armrest. "I just haven't come up with anything good."
       "Oh come on," Denise rolled her eyes and her head followed. She was melodramatic that way. "there are a million things you could say. 'Hi, My name's Katie, and I can do this'"
       As she said 'this', Denise snapped her fingers and held out her hand in a cupping motion.
       "Yeah, that's a great idea." Kate said. "Why don't I just scare off the only person that can help us. Because we don't need him anyways. Now I know why I brought you."
       "Oh don't be such a sourpuss!" Denise rubbed Kate's shoulder, and Kate shrugged away. "Hey, look, you asked me to bring you along, remember? You said you didn't trust yourself to commit and actually go through with it, remember? I'm your emotional support, and your emotional support just wants to give you a big hug!"
       "Well, don't."
       "Why not?"
       "Cuz if you take your hands off the wheel, we'll probably crash. And then it's for sure that I'll never actually do this."
       Denise laughed again. "Don't worry about it Katie, you're my little sister. I won't let anything bad happen to you."
       Kate looked over at her sister, who had a big toothy smile plastered all over her attractive face. Kate suddenly remembered the cheerleading pictures that filled their yearbooks, with Denise's toothy grin right in the front of each one of them. She shook her head and looked down at her feet, at her size seven running shoes which she wore all the time now.
       The rain was pounding harder on the car now, and Denise flicked on the radio to cover up the noise. George Straight's loud, obnoxious country voice hit Kate like a wall of awful. She hated country.
       "Change it." She quickly snapped. "You know country gives me headaches."
       "Only from rapid memory reflex." Denise said, her hand not moving to change the station. "I know you remember all the bonfires and tailgate parties I used to drag you to. You used to love those."
       "I loved the party, not the music."
       "Liar!" Denise said with a grin firmly planted on her face. "I remember you with dancing your tiny little ass off to this music, a coors light in your hand and a guy right on your bootay." She said laughing.
       "The guys were always on your 'bootay'," Kate said with emphasis on Denise's vocabulary choice, "now can we please change it? I don't want to listen to this right now."
       "Alright, princess. What would your royal highness prefer?"
Kate looked out the window and muttered, "This to make sense."
       "Huh?"
       Kate turned back to her sister. "What?"
       "What did you say?"
       "Oh nothing. Just change it please."
       "Alright, alright..." Denise turned through the stations, without much success. "The darn rain must be cramping the reception...maybe we can get the news?"
       "Whatever. Just not country."
       Denise finally settled on a station that came in clear. The radio announcer man's voice was high pitched and fast. It had a strange calming effect on Kate's tired mind. Whatever, she thought, as long as I don't have to hear Garth Brooks I'm fine.
Whether it was the sound of the radio guy's voice, the droll of the rain outside the car, or maybe she was just more tired than she thought, Kate began to fall fast asleep. The sound of the car tires sloshing began to fade away, and just as her eyelids were starting to close fast, she was jarred awake by a nudge from her sister.
       "What?" Kate said sleepily.
       Denise was no longer grinning. She looked solemn and horrified, like a person looks when someone drops a baby.
       "Katie, listen."
       Kate sat up quickly and listened hard to the radio. "Turn it up."
The high pitched fast voice of the radio guy became louder and clearer as Denise rotated the volume knob.
       "...connected with the attack. Police are on the lookout for a woman that they say is 'armed and dangerous'. The suspect was last seen in a Shell gas station nearly ten miles north of Portland, Oregon, travelling westbound on highway twenty-six..."
       "Oh God, that's us!" Denise's voice was high pitched, with fear.
       "...people should be on the lookout for a woman in her early twenties, with dark brown hair, height approximately five foot five to five foot eight, last seen wearing a blue hooded sweater and jean pants with a large tear in the leg and a possible wound. Again, this woman is assumed to be armed and dangerous, and police encourage anyone with information to call their local emergency hotline, and not to engage the suspect in any way. Again, the suspect was last seen..." the radio announcer went on with the same speech, but Denise turned the volume down.
       Neither one said anything. The rain took the place of the radio, and the sound of raindrops beating down on the car filled the silence between the two sisters. Both were digesting what they had just heard, when Denise suddenly broke the quiet.
       "You don't really thank that was talking about us do you?"
       "Who the hell else?" Kate snapped.
       "It was probably some crack dealer who held up a convenience store, right? I mean, that couldn't have been for us, could it?" Denise waved her hands as she spoke.
       Kate held the hole in her pants where not long ago a large gash in her leg had been. "What do you think?" she said, pulling on her torn pants.
       "Oh God, oh God what are we gonna do? We're wanted women!"
       "No, I'm a wanted woman. The guy didn't say anything about you."
       Denise looked like she was on the verge of tears. "But I'm the getaway driver, you know? I'm the one they get for whatever it is, aiding and hiding or something like that. I'm an accomplice! I could lose my job in the firm for this, if I haven't already! I've been gone for so long. Oh God, Katie, why did I ever agree to this?"
       Kate scoffed, "Some moral support you are." And ignored her sister's frantic worrying. If only she hadn't have been so careless. Then none of this would have happened. She never intended for it to go this way, but you know what they say: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
       Slowly she flexed her fingers and turned her hand over. She stared at for a good minute, contemplating everything that had brought them this far.
       Then she snapped her fingers.
       A faint pop came from where her hand was, and immediately out of thin air a bright spark appeared just above Kate fingers. It slowly floated down towards her hand, like a snowflake gently falling to the ground. Then the light suddenly grew very bright, almost too bright to look at, and the weight of a tiny creature filled Kate's outstretched palm.
       The creature was a dark reddish black color, and closely resembled a slug, or maybe a leech. It was about the size of a flash drive, and as soon as it appeared it began hissing and screeching loudly, trying angrily to wriggle away. Kate quickly grabbed in and squeezed hard, and the loud screeching subsided. No juices leaked from between Kate's fingers however, and when she opened her hand, the little beast was gone, and in its place lay a tiny, sparkling diamond about the size of the one on Denise's engagement ring. Kate didn't know why it sparkled, there was no sunlight after all. But for some reason they always did. The picked up the diamond with her other hand, turning it over and over. It was completely flawless, as though it were crafted from glass.
       Kate looked over at her sister. Denise was running one hand through her hair, and looking out at the road. Her eyes were open wide with fear, and she seemed to be breathing heavily.
       "God damnit Kate," she said, "do you really have to do that in the car? You know what would have happened if you dropped it."
       "I know," Kate said, twirling the glimmering diamond between her fingers.
       "Trust me, I know."

Moonlit Snow

        “My god, it’s pouring out there, right?” He shook the water off and chuckled as he walked into the little room.
        “Go ahead and take a seat.”
        He sat down on the small, white cushioned seat. “So, how have the, um, how have the auditions been going?”
        “Just fine-so tell me, um-”
        “Brennan,” he smiled and rubbed his hands together nervously. “I’m Brennan.”
        “Right, so Brennan, do you have any sort of experience doing this?”
        “Well, um, nothing really to speak of, I guess. But I do watch a lot of TV. I love my shows.” He smiled and chuckled awkward, unsure laughter.
        “Have you memorized your lines?”
        He shifted in his seat. “Yeah. Oh yeah. Of course.”
        “Well,” the second man said from behind the table, “Go ahead.”
        “Well, alright. Here goes.”



        I remember the first time I noticed you. It’s clear, it’s vibrant in my mind. You were sitting there in your little black dress, legs crossed, reading something, waiting in that little back room for your turn to go up on stage and dance. I was there, waiting for my cue to head up and sing, nervous because it was opening night. There was an row of open seats, stretching across both walls, and I picked the one right next to you to sit down in. It didn’t matter that I had sat two rows away from you every day in class, or that I had seen you walking around campus before. This was different. Ha ha, lord, I didn’t even know your name back then. But you were beautiful−are beautiful. For some reason Amy’s words rang clear in my ears that night. Knowing that you liked me that much when I had never even spoken to you before, god, I don’t even know how to describe it. It felt good. I felt like the goofy kid that no one really liked. But you, you saw something different.
        That first conversation led to many, many more. Soon we were talking every night, spending every moment together laughing and talking about absolutely nothing. The time flew right by and I almost missed several cues because, well because I was just wrapped up in you. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. And I liked it. Even after the performance ended we kept laughing, kept spending time together, soul searching and looking up into the stars. You were so adorable, so smart and charming and special; you were so enchanting. I never wanted to leave.
        A month passed. Everybody said we were perfect for each other. Every time I saw you it was like a cheesy romance novel. You know. Like something that only happens in the movies. Sweaty palms, heart racing, weak knees. I’d see you cruising around town and almost lose my grip on the wheel. I was so swept up in you. But I tried hard to never let it show. Never let you know that you had that much of an effect on me. I thought I might come on too strong. Might say something too soon. Might make a mistake and lose you to my blundering idiocy. But no matter what you always seemed to want me around. Always seemed to enjoy our time together. Always seemed to truly care.
        So of course we got together, I mean, it was only natural. With that much attraction and that much chemistry come on, right? And I was so happy. Just looking into your smiling face, walking hand in hand down the street, the snow falling down, just visible in the streetlights overhead, and the distant music of December, just barely audible from the Macey’s down the street‒it was perfect. On that night, a little over seven months after we got together, I knew that you were the one.
        On our year anniversary I took you back there. I had to get special permission from the owner of the theater to get access to that little back room, and I had to pay out enough money to make a down payment on a car to get a band to play the song that I sang and you danced to, and procuring a fitting ring involved a very difficult hassle with a pawn shop owner (which you still don’t know to this day), but everything was perfect, just like I planned it. I pretended to break into the back room of the theater and sneak in, bringing you with me. You were reluctant, but I told you to ‘just trust me.’ When we stepped out on stage, the lights came up, and you thought we were in huge trouble. But then the music started. I looked at you, and smiled, and all the tension, the worry, guilt and fear melted right off your face when you recognized the song, L.O.V.E., played expertly by the band. I knelt down on one knee. The tears were falling down your cheeks and your eyes had a special sparkle I had never seen before. You couldn’t speak the word, but you put your hands to your mouth and nodded. Yes.
        I placed the ring gently on your finger. And we danced.
        We’re walking back to your apartment, still glowing, you from sheer joy and me from an emotional rollercoaster of nerves and apprehension and excitement at my success. It’s cold outside, so you draw closer to me. I can feel your warmth as we walk. The street is deserted, after all, it is after midnight. We walk together, just basking in each other’s happiness, smiling at the life ahead. Kids. A house. Building a life and, eventually, growing old together. I can't wait.
        I look down the street and notice a faint fog rolling in, illuminated by the street lights. It’s picturesque in a way, kind of like something you would see in a Norman Rockwell picture, or perhaps on a greeting card. A sudden chill hits us, and you clutch on a little tighter. It makes me smile.
        Suddenly you stop and draw in a breath. It’s not a gasp, but it’s just enough to make me stop and look down at you, and when I do my heart jumps into my throat. Your eyes are terrified. Your knuckles are white on my coat. I turn my head to see what you’re looking at, and then I see him.
        The man steps out into the circle of light cast by the street lamp from behind a green dumpster. He's close. He has a gun. I don’t know him and he looks scared. He tells me to give him my wallet. I put my hands up and tell him to take it easy, that we don’t want any trouble. He looks over his shoulder and shakes the gun at me, and yells out that he’s not fucking around. I slowly put my hand behind me, and pull out my wallet. I throw it over, and he leans down, the gun still pointed at me, and picks it up. My fiancé shifts and the night’s moonlight glints off her ring. The man sees it, and shouts at us: the ring too, give me the ring too. Then you do something strange. You say no.
        He steps toward you and begins to yell but I reach out and strike him. As he recovers I grab his wrists and we struggle, the gun shining in the moonlight. I can hear you screaming, screaming my name over and over again. Then suddenly, in the middle of the struggle, the gun goes off. And I can’t hear you screaming anymore.
        The man drops the gun and sprints off but I, I can’t see him anymore. All I can see is you. You lying there, bleeding and gasping for breath. I rush over and slide down beside you. You want to speak, want to say something. Shhh, I say, shhh, it’s going to be alright, it’s going to be ok. Oh god, oh god, help! Somebody! Help! Shhh, honey, honey please, sweetheart, no. Heeelp!
        I hear my name. You whisper it. Immediately all my attention is on you. All my focus and tears and love is on you. You try to choke out words, the blood spilling from the side of your pale lips, lips that were once so vibrant, so perfect, so soft. I lean in closer. You speak.
        I’m sorry.
        Then it’s gone. The life that so profoundly changed my own is gone. I touch your face, my hand shaking, not wanting to believe it’s true. Not wanting to believe that you’re really gone. No. Not like this. Not tonight. Not like this. I pick you up. It feels different than before. It feels wrong. Your body is limp. Your arms don’t reach up to grasp my neck, your legs don’t kick, and there is no smile upon your face. Tears mix with saliva as grief like I have never felt before, invades my body and manifests itself in my face. I cry. Like I have never cried before. I lose control of myself as the sorrow rips and tears my soul. My whole body convulsing and shaking, making your lifeless body shake in my arms. My chest feels empty, like the bullet that took you somehow hit me as well. You are still so beautiful, even in death, and it makes me sob harder. Your blood drips down, spilling onto the ground and staining the pure white snow.
        Then out of the corner of my eye I catch something. A glint of metal cylinders. For a second, my sobs stop. Ever so gently I put you down and get to my feet. I turn away and slowly I stumble over towards the thing that with a flash, in a moment, took away what I loved most in this world. I stretch down and grab it. It scrapes the concrete as I pick it up.
        I look back towards you. I see your form in the moonlight. Cold. Unmoving. And I can’t bear it. I can’t. I just can’t.
        I turn away towards where the man ran away, the man who for no reason took what he had no right to take. It wasn’t his right. It just isn’t right. I feel my blood start to boil, like it’s fighting its way out of my body. A loathing, primal hatred takes control of my body. I step forward and scream. I scream my lungs out, a scream that would curdle the Devil’s blood. That’s just what he was. A gutter rat, a god damn pathetic piece of worthless shit. I raise the gun and pull the trigger again and again but nothing happens. I forgot to cock it. So I take to the green dumpster instead, kicking and punching it as though it’s him. I want to chase after him. I want to make him feel pain. To make him bleed. To make him suffer. I take two steps after him, but I can't leave you, I, I just can't.
        I walk back and fall on my knees next to you, arms limp at my sides, the weight of the gun heavy in my hand, the weight of my emptiness heavy on my shattered heart. I lean down towards you and softly kiss your forehead.
        Slowly I raise the pistol up. I press the barrel to my temple, the cold metal hard against my head. I reach out and close your eyes. Your skin is still so soft.
        Please.

            Forgive me.

        Brennan got up off his knees and walked back towards the table. He sat down on the small, white cushioned stool and looked at the two men.
        “So?” He said, “How did I do?”

Pineapples

     Reese loved pineapples. He liked everything about them. The color of
the shell, the leaves whose sharp ridges would cut deeply when passed
quickly over someone's wrist, even the smell excited Reese. Every
morning when Reese rose from bed and put on his Hello Kitty bath robe
and fuzzy slippers he would pour himself a bowl of cereal in the
kitchen, pull a large, wet butcher knife from the wooden holder, and
chop himself a slice of pineapple. Not the end slice, which had been
sitting exposed in the refrigerator all night long since his last slice
the previous morning and was thus a little dry. He cut that slice off
and fed it to his pet Gila Monster.
    Jill, who worked at the grocery store, used to fuck Reese. Back in high
school when they used to have both feelings and convictions they were
neither best friends nor even acquaintances. But Jill would watch the
back of Reese's well proportioned head and sigh inside. She wondered if
Johnny DeMarko would ever quit boning his girlfriend (it turns out that
they didn't actually have sex, who knew?) and finally introduce her to
the quiet kid with the nice haircut, slim fit jeans, who smelled
amazing and always remembered to turn in his homework. And who-rumor
had it-liked her.
    Truth is, Reese didn't even know Jill's name, but he would never admit
that later when they started dating. Even after Jill's parents kicked
him out of the house and forbade him to ever return, and Jill took him
to the the parking lot just outside the local water park and made love
to him again just to get back at her parents. Even after Jill sobbingly
apologized to him for sleeping with Johnny DeMarko while she was on
ecstacy. Even after he wrestled with taking her back prom night, and
instead got drunk and high and wrapped his car around a tree and killed
his best friend Johnny. Even after, by a scheduling coincidence at the
hospital, he wound up delivering her baby ten and a half years later (he
later found out it was her third baby with her second husband). After
all that, Reese never told her that he hadn't known her name until she
whispered in between sloppy, inexperienced kisses.
    Now Reese simply enjoyed his fresh cut slice of pineapple. There was
nothing in the world quite like the wet refreshing taste of a good
slice of pineapple. Just like there was nothing in the world like the
feeling of pushing nine milimeter bullets into the clip of a handgun,
grasping the rubberized grip, and sliding the magazine home.
    Because Reese was going to kill someone later today.