Mitchell Port of Philadelphia

1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9799525-2-4
Verlag: Pumpkin Media
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 280 Seiten

Billy Flynn has worked hard to change his life after being scared straight from a life of crime. But fate forces him back into his past when late one night after school he saves a girl from an attempted rape, and the would-be rapist, son of powerful New Jersey mob boss, Johnny Corso, is later found floating in the Delaware River. Billy soon finds he is being pursued by the Philadelphia and Jersey mob, each wanting him for different reasons. Running for his life, he must go underground to survive and, in doing so, he comes face to face with the monster who has caused him and his family so much pain.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Mitchell, William

Leseproben

Liam (Gaelic for William): unwavering protector. CHAPTER 1 THURSDAY, MID-APRIL, 10:00 PM, UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA The scream that will threaten everything Billy Flynn has worked for in the last five years since being scared straight from a life of crime was still thirteen minutes away when he exited the lecture hall on the Penn Campus to the bluster of a late-winter cold front. The crisp air was a welcomed relief after a long day of work and school. He took a deep breath, relaxing as he watched the leafless trees sway with the uneven rhythm from spikes of gusting wind. It felt good. He glanced left at the lighted-towers of downtown Philadelphia rising above red-brick buildings of campus, the tiny squares of light sparkled but were slowly being extinguished by a veil of low, thin clouds crawling in from the northwest, enveloping the buildings like a dark glove. He was just a couple of months away from the prize and the once-a-week visit to the Penn campus was a gift from his finance professor at Temple who recommended Billy for the honors seminar; a class that would cap off his last semester of college. He spent a few minutes taking in the scenery of the Ivy League campus that swelled with possibility for those attending, even a full-time student at Temple who made his way here just once a week. Billy zipped up his jacket, hiked up his backpack and donned his orange Coast Guard ball cap over his auburn hair, then headed down the steps for the mile-long walk to his car. It would clear his mind walking in the cold. It allowed him some quiet time to reflect on his day at work on the water inspection ships and searching hazardous materials cargo like a bloodhound who couldn’t sit still. As he walked, he remembered being late for class and parking illegally; leaving his car under a streetlight at the end of an alley separating two rows of brownstones in a neighborhood not known for its safety at night, despite the presence of a number of fraternities. Billy stopped under a street light at the last intersection where the campus ended and the real world began. The light overhead flickered, went dark, then slowly brightened again. With the light dawned the dull recollection of how far he would have to walk to get to his car. Oh, well, just get to the car and get going. He headed for his car. He felt uneasy the further he got from campus. He chalked it up to fatigue. He looked up and down the street but saw no one, nothing but parked cars lining both sides of the narrow, dimly-lit street dotted with trees on the sidewalk. He glanced back and saw nothing but a glowing skyline now fully engulfed within a halo of clouds. Billy’s tension eased with a smile when he saw the Turtle–his 1985 lime-green Toyota Corolla, wheels still attached. He loved this old car despite its desperate ignition switch that hung by wires requiring a screwdriver to operate, and the faded paint and peeling vinyl roof that proved its best years had passed. But it was his. He loved the Turtle. The old car had witnessed the loss of his virginity. Billy exhaled a big sigh of relief, so much so he almost missed the first scream. He froze, not really sure what he had heard but scared at what his intuition was whispering. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. There it was again, faint and distant like an old radio. Was it a cat? He stood still and listened. A piercing third scream startled him before it was muffled. That was no cat! He laid his backpack at the curb near his car and walked into the street, his eyes scanning the windows of the brownstones to his right where the sounds seemed to come from. “Where are you?” he whispered. Another muffled scream stopped him. He heard the sounds of a struggle coming from a darkened row of windows on the second floor of the fraternity brownstone directly in front of him. A sheer sheet of curtains covered the windows that were cracked several inches. Billy looked up and down the street. No one. “Great.” He focused on the double front doors with frosted windows that glowed from the well-lit first floor. Some sort of party, it seemed. “What now, Billy. You just gonna run in there?” he asked himself. He looked from the door to the window. The curtains on the second floor fluttered and pressed hard against the glass, the fabric forced through the partially opened middle window before tearing violently from the supports. The dim glow of a faint backlight exposed the silhouettes of two people; one enjoying the struggle, the other definitely not. Another scream pierced the air but was interrupted by what sounded like a slap followed by the slam of a door that extinguished the backlight and reduced the windows to a line of dark squares. The exasperation drained from Billy’s face. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.” Billy set off, running up the steps two at a time and through the double doors, knocking over several plants in the foyer. Two frat guys, both of whom were extremely drunk and/or stoned sat on a wooden bench in the foyer. Neither of the slack-jawed kids moved at first. They seemed fixated on the broken planters and dirt in the foyer and trying to process what had just happened, clearly pushing the limits of their mental abilities. “Dude, you broke our plants,” said the larger of the two, still staring at the floor. They slowly turned their gaze toward Billy. The face of the biggest guy contorted as if he had figured out some truth that had been eluding him. “Man, you’re not a Gamma. You don’t belong here...” He looked to his befuddled friend. “Does he...?” Billy focused on the staircase ahead of him then bounded up the steps to the landing on the second floor where he stopped to listen. At first he heard nothing, and then a soft whimper drifted from the door directly in front of him. A sign on the door read “Big John.” The growing commotion downstairs told Billy the drunk guys were summoning help to investigate the intruder. “Finish what you started,” Billy muttered and ran at the door. The impact drove the door from its hinges and it landed on something in the middle of the floor. Something big. From under the door, someone yelled, “what the hell!” The door moved then flew against the wall, revealing a large, muscle-bound guy. No doubt, Billy figured, this is Big John. Except for the boxer-shorts and jeans bunched at his ankles, John was naked. Almost as naked was the girl next to him; the torn remnants of her red dress ripped down the middle and bunched at her hips exposed most of what was above her waist and everything below. John stood up, slowly pulling his feet free form the tangle of clothes. The young girl under him rolled onto her side, trying to cover herself with her dress with one hand as she clawed helplessly toward the wall with the other. Her face was bloody and her makeup smeared from tears. “Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am?!” John slurred. He flexed his shoulders back and cracked his neck. Billy’s gaze at the girl didn’t waiver. He was lost, mesmerized by the pitiful thing crying and crawling toward some invisible refuge. Any hesitation Billy had earlier was gone at the sight of the girl. “Hey, asshole! I’m talking to you,” John shouted, taking a step toward Billy. John’s words stirred Billy from the trace. He was back. Without thinking, Billy charged, hitting John in the chest and sending them both to the floor. Anger and adrenaline were in control now and Billy suddenly realized he was throwing a flurry of punches at John’s head. And as he swung away an absurd thought occurred to him that this was going pretty well! But Billy’s luck ran out. His face suddenly flushed as he gasped for air. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed at John’s huge hand that had a firm grip around Billy’s neck. John smiled a bloody smile as he tightened his grip and got to his feet, pulling Billy up with him like an unloved stuffed animal. This was greeted with taunts and cheers from the growing congregation of drunk guys at the door, all of whom wanted to see John do something really bad. John smiled. “You’re a dead man.” Billy struggled to free himself from John’s grip but his energy was fading. John eased his grip as Billy was gagging. “I’m sorry. Did you have something to say,” John asked. Billy choked and a spatter of vomit spewed onto John’s arm. “Dude! You just puked on me.” John increased his grip with his growing rage. No one paid any attention to the girl who was now on her feet and moving toward to the corner of the room near the windows. She reached into the dark space behind a coat rack and retrieved a baseball bat. She gripped the bat tight then focused on John. No one in the growing crowd of drunks noticed the girl until it was too late. They were fixated; mouths open, waiting for John to finish his victim. “You Asshole!” she shouted as she swung the bat. The bat connected with John’s lower back with a sickening thud. John screamed at the ceiling and dropped hard to the floor. Billy fell from John’s grasp, gasping for breath as he stumbled backward and landed on his butt. He shook the stars clear and felt his leg strength returning. He got to his feet just in time to grab the bat as the girl started a downswing at Big John’s head. “Come on,” Billy said. He grabbed the girl by the wrist and led her through the crowd on the landing that parted in shocked...