Pat Cromwell

Unedited Excerpt#1

She had changed her hair. No surprise after seven years.  If was still short, meticulously groomed, and swept back off her face so as to not distract from the natural beauty that held him enthralled.  Years ago she had sweet little sexy curls that bounced with her movements.  Now she wore it straight. 

He had loved those tiny little curls.  He’d fingered those curly locks whenever she was within hands reach of him, which was all the time.  He had lain beside her, behind her, atop her, and under, always he was drawn to those locks.  He would run his fingers through those tight little curls. 

It was his fetish.  Her hair.  Breathlessly she would beg to have her hair pulled escalating her own pleasure and his feeding his; perfect for one another, two peas in the same pod so to speak, and unabashedly two freaks in harmony.  Now it was straight as an arrow, slicked back with – he assumed - a combination of oils, pomade, and good old fashion petroleum jelly that she had generously applied to her thick, short, unruly mane.  Call him crazy but he liked the feel of that greasy stuff on his fingers.  Definitely a fetish and she had catered to his obsession.

This was it. 

He understood now why the weird and tantalizing feeling of déjà vu that assailed him at the most inopportune moments during the last two weeks had occurred.  It was a warning.  A foretelling of this instant, he thought as he watched her looking around searching for him. 

Oh yeah, this wasn’t a coincidence.  She was looking for him.  The prickly feeling and bouts of anxiety that he felt chained to for the last two weeks had accelerated into hyper drive.  The cold sweats that cursed his body and the painful hard on that were constant and non stop were in full force now.  His swelling member strained against his stone wash denim jeans.  Had he not felt all the symptoms’ before, had he not known the familiarity of them because of their meeting seven years ago, he would have sworn that his latest female companion was feeding him Viagra.

Their eyes finally clashed and he groaned ... she stopped in her tracks and smiled.  Smiled! 

She smiled. 

She didn’t do that much.  The forlorn look, the sadness that was always present in her eyes was more the norm for her.  From the first moment he laid eyes on her, that unseasonably cold and windy August night seven years ago, his first though had been how pretty she must be when she smiles because that night there was no laughter or merriment in her eyes. 

But then, when you’re standing on a bridge in the middle of the night, contemplating jumping, who smiles.  His second thought had been that she was lucky as hell that the wind hadn’t blown her pretty little butt off the bridge.

Unedited Excerpt#2

Henry eyes moved to the left and JD felt that old familiar tick in his neck; that warning itch that told him that things were not as they should be.  The sultry, smoky, sexy voice of Angel confirmed it.

“Put it down Jon.”  What the fuck?  JD spun around and saw Angel – his Angel pointing her little silver 25 at him.

“What are you doing?”  If looks could kill the fire in his eyes would have engulfed her in flames.  She flinched.  Henry’s sardonic laughter released the eye lock that he and Angelina shared and Jon looked back at Henry.

Henry Bellows Moore Junior.

Son of a bitch! 

What had he gotten into?

“I can’t let you shoot him Jon.  Sorry, but I can not let you be the one to take him out.  Not here and especially not now.”  From the corner of his eye he saw the look of approval on Henry’s face in the form of a subtle yet curt bow of his head. 

“I wish like hell Jon that I had been able to explain everything to you,” she continued, “then you would understand what’s happening and all of this would have been avoided.”  She looked at Henry and said, “But as usual this dick has no conception of time.  You are a moron!” She yelled at her brother.

“Shoot him or I will!” Henry responded loudly; his voice was like the shifting of shrapnel in JD’s brain.  The pain was compounded by the motion of her finger jabbing the trigger of the little 25.  Of all the scenarios he had entertained from the moment they had entered the car and headed out of the city, this one had not come to mind.

Amazed and astonished he heard the pop.  A searing pain spilled over his legs.

Jesus Christ did she shoot me? 

He buckled to the grown, mouth agape.  His brain yelled minor and insignificant wound as his eyes focused on the trickle of blood that slipped from the tiny hole of his rain soaked jeans.  Hell, he probably wouldn’t need any of that super serum shit that people carried to control bleeding and prevent an infection.  It was the wonder drug.  Had it not been created and available over the counter, the city would have no citizens.  With the Urban Wars came a Wild West mentality and gunfights in non-neutral areas were as common as rain.  Good old fashion Isopropyl Alcohol or Hydrogen Peroxide would do the trick to protect the wound to his leg.  The sore that plagued his pride was another disease altogether. 

He would live, JD didn’t doubt that. But his pride … his pride was feeling more pain than the scratch on his leg.  She had shot him!  His Angel had shot him.  His mind quickly wrapped around the facts.  In his mind the Temptations were singing and David Ruffin was crooning Ain’t To Proud To Beg front and center.  Had it really been less than two hours that he had justified his abandonment of good common sense based on that fucking song!

“You fucking shot me!”  He roared at her.  With his head held high and her in his sight, ignoring the rain that beat across his back, the poor visibility, and the idiot laughing to his right, he tightened the grip on his gun and raised his arm steadying his aim.

“Le me explain…” she stammered.

“Fuck you and fuck David Ruffin.”  Mad as hell he aimed at her.

“Who’s David Ruffin?” Henry asked as he raised his booted foot and with a force JD figured was a mixture of adrenaline and spite, kicked JD’s arm.

“Nice shot,” He remarked nonchalantly to his sister.   Maybe it was his reflexes or more than likely the impact of Henry’s vicious kick, the end result was JD’s fingers spastically firing several rounds off his Magnum.   Several bullets plowed into the tires of his car. 

“Shit … now we’ll have to take Henry’s car.” Angel moaned.  JD starred at her in awe, straight up disbelief.  Had he ever known her?  Of course the fuck not! Came the viciously, mocking, unsympathetic response from his inner self preserving self, the part of his brain that had always tried to warn him of the duplicity that is and always would be Angelina Bellows.

“No fucking way. Walk!”  Henry responded.

And as was the case in all bad movies, pandemonium broke out.  JD rolled to his side and Angel ducked low as Henry’s arm flung around and fired a round of bullets towards her … all JD realized missing Henry’s so called target – Angel.  She managed easily enough – much too easily - to get to JD, grabbed a fist full of his collar and pulled.  He braced himself for the inevitable and painful tumble down the muddy bank that led to the Gollmer River.

“He never was a good shot.” Angela bemoaned her voice full of sarcasm and … embarrassment.  JD heard the embarrassment and apologetic tone in her voice.  It was like she had said “sorry my brother is such a lousy shot.”

She dragged JD to the edge of the cutoff and together they rolled down the steep embankment that led to the river.  Bullets splattered about them and JD could hear the heinous laughter of Henry Bellows Moore as he and Angelina tumbled down the muddy hill.