Paone Moonlight City Drive

Part 1
1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-0-9913091-1-5
Verlag: Scout Media
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 270 Seiten

Reihe: Moonlight City Drive

Family. The Job. The Thrill of Discovery. No one gets out alive.
George Covington loved three things: his family, his job, and the dames he killed every night. Detective Smith hated three things: his family, his job, and the scumbags who killed dames. The only thing they had in common was the witch who pulled the puppet strings from the shadows.
11:18 p.m. Subject is checking into the Desert Palms Motel, accompanied by an unknown female. Snapshot in the parking lot. Man and woman embrace. Betrayal ... I see it every day, like my own reflection. Another case, another bottle of booze, and another client who won't be satisfied until I uncover every speck of dirt they think is there. I'm a private eye, hot on the trail; the top gun for hire. I lurk in the shadows, searching for the clues you think you erased. I'm the bulletproof detective, and I have you in my sights.
What's a little sin between the sheets, and a little blood between lovers? What's a little death to be discovered, waiting for you under that white sheet? I'm digging a desert grave just for you, underneath the burning sun. You won't be found ... not even by the vultures circling in the sky. You, my dear, are the reason why I was always easily influenced.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Paone, Brian

Leseproben

1: The Darkest Days The tall and broody man hid in the shadows of the looming trees and glared at the single-story building in front of him. He shook his head in disgust and thought, In 1945 this brand-new subdivision brimmed with hope for families buying their starter homes, the World Wars over thankfully. Then, somehow, some city official allowed this, this, this travesty to invade our peaceful community less than a year later. Just a few months afterward people are evacuating, leaving their homes whether sold or not—which makes no difference with the market prices quickly diving and dying there. His shoulders were hunched, and his chin almost touched his chest. He could see unruly wisps of his eyebrows as his eyes strained to their maximum leverage. His teeth were clenched, grinding against each other. The fingernails in his right hand drew small speckles of blood inside his tightly closed fist. He quickly brought the inside crease of his elbow to his mouth to stifle a cough. He knew he had to be careful. He knew he had to be silent. Any careless noises could sound the alarms, and they’d be on him quicker than moths to flames. The man flipped the hood of his long black cloak over his head, and the fabric covered most of his face. He raised a fist in the air to signal the scores of figures behind him that they were about to begin. He heard their excited chatter rise from the silence of the night. He scowled at them, then raised a single finger to his lips. The murmuring ceased immediately. He turned toward the building and bounced his outstretched hand up and down, gesturing for them to move slowly behind him. The herd of figures followed the man, all hunched down to stay underneath the path of the spotlights. He reached the large purple sign that directed family members when they visited their teenage delinquents. The Siegel Home for Wayward Children: only the best of the best gets to call this hellhole home. Only the most well-behaved are allowed to leave when they turn seventeen and forever have bragging rights to their hooligan friends downtown that they “survived Siegel” with only a black eye, broken arm, or maybe violated genitals. And that’s just from the staff’s doings. They’ll be rewarded to live another day in Technicolor and amphetamines, destroying everything they touch. The best of the best. The man placed his hand atop the wooden sign, and his thumb slipped into the engraved G. The disciples huddled around him, breaking their ranks and waiting for instruction as a searchlight swung across the parking lot toward Siegel’s main entrance. The man curled into a ball and pressed himself against the wood for concealment. The beam of light scanned across the top of the sign, and the sea of followers disappeared, leaving the man alone to cower as he waited for the light to continue panning left. As soon as the beam cleared the main entrance, the rows and rows of figures materialized again. He pointed to a female three rows back and motioned for her to come to him. She low-crawled past the first two rows and giggled excitedly. “Can you handle leading the charge?” he whispered. She bounced her head up and down and clapped as a small droplet of drool trickled from the corner of her mouth. “Shh! I’m trusting you, Nikki. Don’t let me down. You know what’ll happen if you do.” Nikki nodded. “Good girl. I’ll stay here to catch the … difficult ones.” He straightened his back to see over the heads of the first few rows. “You, you, you, you, and … you three. Stay here with me. The rest of you will go with Nikki.” The pack of followers faded quickly as the spotlight swept across the main entrance again. He ducked and pulled his hood farther over his head. When the light cleared the area, he shook his finger at the side wall of Siegel’s. “Go! Go! Go!” Nikki and the rest of the Mushroom Cult corporealized and stormed the walls of the detention center like a tidal wave. The man pressed his back against the main entrance sign and silently counted the seconds before the stragglers escaped through the doors, screaming in terror—maybe in even more terror than their victims had screamed. One can only hope, the man thought as he smoothed his brown mustache. When the first explosion ripped through the silence, he constricted his neck into his shoulders, like a turtle retreating into its shell. He giggled and placed a finger to his lips to signal the disciples with him to stay quiet. His command was futile, as the handful of cult members chattered and cheered. He stood up, abandoning the safety of the sign, and motioned for them to charge. A deafening secondary explosion projected him backward, and his body contorted around the stump of a tree. He hit the ground and counted the stars in his vision. One, two, eight, thirteen, twenty-six, four hundred … and out. The followers at the sign pointed to his motionless body while they shook and jumped up and down. One female disciple pointed to the fire and smoke, accompanying the screams erupting from the building. The rest of them continued to flail their limbs as they gawked at the man at the base of the tree. She grabbed the wrist of the follower beside her and yelled a single-toned scream. The cult stopped panicking and turned their attention to the one who had taken control. She squeezed the disciple’s wrist tighter and shook a finger at the building. They nodded in understanding and crouched in a defensive stance. Black smoke and bright orange flames enveloped Siegel’s Home for Wayward Children. The frantic screams of the dying children engulfed the stillness of the night outside and excited the waiting ghouls. The roof, completely consumed, slid from the top of the building, exposing the screams of the staff burning alive. The man shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Cyana … ” He cleared his throat and brushed dirt off his pants. “Cyana!” Cyana diverted her attention from the burning building to her master and clapped excitedly, jumping up and down. “Come here, my child.” Cyana gripped the hands of another Mushroom Cult member, gurgled an unintelligible command, and bounded toward the man like a kangaroo. He clasped her face. “Cyana, I need you now more than ever. Are you ready to prove yourself?” Cyana nodded with such ferocity he thought her head would pop off her neck. “Any second now some of the children and staff will escape from the fire and spill into the street. They’ll think they found safety outdoors. They might think they were strong and courageous, but they’re really just the overachievers. Sentenced to the same fate as their burning brethren. I’m trusting you to pick them off, one by one, as they come out.” Cyana clapped and bounced up and down. The ashes and smoke rising skyward momentarily distracted the man. “Good, good,” he continued. “We burned down the temple where they were sleeping. We woke them up and showed them the truth of their ways. Now you can feed on their fears.” Cyana clicked her heels together and sprinted toward the rest of the disciples hiding behind the sign. The man watched as she grunted a few commands to the group, and then he walked toward the sanctity of the entrance sign. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a half-wit,” Anya said, materializing beside him. A black veil hid her face and stringy white hair. “Cyana is a few hay straws short of a scarecrow.” “I don’t need her to be smart. I need her to be effective.” “You worry about collecting. I’ll worry about facilitating. They’re my girls,” Anya retorted. “Plus I’ve made it perfectly clear how unhappy I am about what you’re doing here. This is a useless cleansing. I’m not getting compensated. I’m not adding any new girls tonight.” “That might be true, but I thank you, Anya, from the bottom of my heart for letting me use the girls tonight. A blanket of fire when the hellions are young is so much more effective than picking them off one by one when they’re adults.” “This is your one freebie from me, Mr. Covington. The girls are mine again starting tomorrow,” she sneered and vanished. “And we get back to the mission.” “Always a pleasure,” he mumbled. The detention center’s front door burst open, and waves of terrified children spewed into the street. Covington laughed as he watched them fall over each other, trying to reach safety from the flames. “Not so tough now, are you?” He glanced at the building and saw charred children pressing their bodies against the closed windows, screaming—begging—for anyone to open the windows. Like a waterfall of dripping flesh, the children trapped inside piled atop one another to escape. Covington placed his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk of satisfaction. “You hoodlums deserve every moment of pain. I’m cleansing the world of your filth!” He felt a hard tug on his cloak and looked down. Cyana pulled at the seams of his disguise and pointed to the front of the...