Dave Zeltserman - Blood Crimes Book One

“Where’s Carol?” he asked.

The gun barrel was pushed harder into his ribs. “First off,” the biker said, “keep your voice low. We don’t want to disturb all these other nice moviegoers. They paid good money for their seats just like you, dipwad. They deserve to watch the movie in peace. And about that sweet piece of ass you were with, we’ve got her.”

“If you hurt her-”

“Oh, we’re going to hurt her plenty,” he said, grinning and showing off cracked and badly stained teeth that made Jim think of busted boards on a picket fence that had been splashed with mud. “We’re going to pass her around and have us a lot of fun. She’ll be taking it up the ass so much that cum will be dripping out of her ears by the time we’re done with her. That’s the price you pay for putting us through this hassle. But as long as you give us back our money, we’ll let her go when we’re done with her. It could take days, so a word of advice, don’t hold your breath.”

“If I were you I’d make a call right now and tell your friends they better not lay a hand on her.”

“What a fucking inconsiderate dipwad you are,” he said, his grin widening and showing off more of his badly formed and ruined teeth. “Didn’t you see the announcement they showed? You ain’t supposed to use cell phones in the theatre, dummy. It disturbs other people.”

A middle-aged man sitting half a dozen rows in front of them turned around to stare angrily at them.

“See,” the biker said.

“You better call your friends,” Jim said. “If any of them hurt her, you’re all dead.”

The biker got a chuckle out of that. “Big talk out of this one,” he said to Pearce. “I still don’t understand how a skinny little fuck like this got the better of you and Sid. I’m fucking embarrassed for you two just thinking about it.”

Jim moved quickly and ripped the biker’s gun arm out of its socket. Blood spurted from the opening and, from the reaction of the moviegoer half a dozen rows up who had stared at them seconds earlier, it must’ve sprayed him because he turned around to give them the evil eye again, probably thinking they had tossed some soda at him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned back to the movie. The biker was bleeding out fast, his lips moving as if he wanted to scream. Jim didn’t give him a chance to. He grabbed him by the throat and crushed his trachea. The hand attached to the torn-off arm was still gripping the handgun. Jim pried it loose, noted that it was a big piece of iron, probably a. 45. He turned to Pearce, who had been watching it all in disbelief. The whole thing had taken less than a few seconds and the biker was having trouble fully processing it and making sense of what he witnessed. Once he did, he stumbled out of his seat. He tried to run but his legs had turned to rubber and he collapsed onto the floor. He moved awkwardly, his legs still rubbery as he pulled himself to his feet, and had gotten only a few feet away when Jim grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and half carried him as he hustled the biker out the side exit. The few people scattered about the theatre applauded them leaving.

“Here’s the deal,” Jim said once they were outside and alone. “You call your buddies now and warn them what happens if they hurt Carol. You don’t, I fucking tear you apart.”

“Let go of me! You fucking freak-”

Jim slapped him hard enough to rattle his teeth. Pearce looked stunned, his eyes dazed. Jim brought his hand back to slap him again, and some life flickered in the biker’s eyes. Pearce’s knees buckled and his hands moved up defensively to protect his face.

“I’ll call them, Jesus Fucking Christ, I’ll call them!”

Jim let go of his jacket collar, and the biker stumbled backwards before regaining his balance. His legs shaky, he took out a cell phone and made a call. All color had drained from his face and his hands shook.

“Come on, come on, answer,” he pleaded to no one in particular. Then, his voice frantic, “Raze, it’s me, Pearce. Zeke’s dead. This guy’s a fucking freak. I swear to God he pulled Zeke’s arm right off… no, I’m not kidding…listen to me, don’t touch his girl. I’m dead if you do…what? No man, I’m serious, don’t fuck me like this.”

“Give me the phone,” Jim said.

“He wants to talk to you,” Pearce told Raze.

Pearce handed the phone to Jim.

“I want my girlfriend back safely. Now.”

There was no response, but Jim heard guys talking in the background.

“Hey, Raze, you hear what I said? I want her returned back to me.”

“Fuck you.”

The voice was soft and oily, like someone who thought he was dangerous and wanted to make sure everyone else knew that also.

“You bring her back now or I’m going to start hurting Pearce far worse than I hurt Zeke. He’ll tell me where you are.”

Some more silence, then, “You got fucking balls. You sucker punch me and my bros, rip me off, and then you think you got the right to call the shots?”

“I want her back.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you. I want my money back.”

“You can have it.”

There was another long stretch of silence. Then, “Yeah? Just like that, huh?”

“That’s right. As long as you bring her back to me safe. Otherwise it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

The guy on the other end started laughing in that same soft, threatening tone. “You really do got a set of fuckin’ watermelons hanging off you.”

“You think Pearce made that up about me ripping Zeke’s arm off?”

“Yeah, I do. You expect me to buy that bullshit?”

“Send one of your bros to the Cineplex on Orchard Drive. Theatre eight. He’ll find Zeke in the back row. His arm’s lying on the floor next to him.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Send someone.”

“If you really killed Zeke-”

“I did.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ask Pearce again.”

“I don’t care what the fuck he says. You got a piece on him, right? He’ll say whatever the fuck you want.”

“You want your money back. That’s what this is about. Let’s just do it.”

“I want more than just my money back. I want interest for what you’ve put me through.”

“That’s not going to happen. You can get your money back. Otherwise, you’ll lose Pearce, then you’ll lose a lot more after I find you.”

More silence, then, “Let me talk to Pearce.”

Jim handed the phone back to the biker who listened intently, his eyes large and scared.

“This is no shit…I know, I know, it sounds like bullshit but I saw it…on my mother’s grave, I swear to God…he ripped his arm right off like it was nothin’…this guy’s a fucking freak…yeah, okay.”

Pearce handed the phone back to Jim. Raze told him he still didn’t buy this bullshit about Zeke, but he was willing to let Jim give the money to Pearce and that the girl would be returned afterwards.

“That’s not going to happen. It needs to be an exchange.”

“What do you suggest, smart guy?”

“I’ll get the money. Carol doesn’t know where it is so it’s not worth hurting her to try and find out. It’s also hidden well enough that you’re not going to find it. Once I have the money, Pearce calls you back and we have an exchange somewhere public. Then we forget we ever ran into each other, and you can spend your energies arranging Zeke’s funeral.”

“You’re such a fucking smart guy. What if I tell you to fuck off and keep the money? From what I hear your girlfriend is a sweet-looking thing. I could put her to work and double my nine grand in a week.”

“You do that and more of your bros are going to die.”

“Fuck, you’re a cocky sonofabitch.”

“Just telling you what’s going to happen.”