This Sample Sunday is from my upcoming release, Philadelphia Story -- due out on Kindle, Nook, iPad and in Paperback on January 25th! In this scene, Lance finds himself in trouble... he's tied up and being mocked by Ram Don MIng, the head of the Philadelphia Asian Mafia.
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Something warm and wet ran down the back of my neck. Droplets of sweat dripped one by one from the end of my nose. The air was thick with hot moisture making me more uncomfortable then just being tied up would normally be. Not like that is normal or anything. To add insult to injury there were loud humming sounds coming from all around me in this enveloping darkness. I couldn’t tell exactly where I was but it certainly wasn’t the Hilton.
“Freedom is a light for which many men have died in darkness…” I said out loud and heard only the sounds of the machines around me. “And I am here, in the darkness.” Out of that darkness I began to hear the sounds of foot falls. Someone was coming towards me. It came across suddenly, sensed it but not fast enough to do anything. It hit me hard across the side of the head exacerbating my pain and knocking me to the hard, cold ground. My head hit the concrete with a thump hard enough to make my vision go black, then fuzzy and then began to come back into focus. The foot steps were now surrounding me and my own consciousness was tentative at best. I squinted hard to try and focus on the feet walking in circles around me, doing my best to try and count how many people there really were. Was it four? Five maybe? My vision did not improve. “Who…” I coughed, spitting blood. “Who’s there?” There was only a laugh in answer to my question. I tried to lift my head but something wasn’t right. A bolt of pain shot from my head down my spine. I wasn’t going anywhere -- at least not on my own power.
“Mister Lance Carter,” his voice bellowed through the bowels of the building as his thickly accented English mangled the words. It sounded Cantonese to me. “I’m so disappointed! I thought you’d put up more of a fight after all the headaches you caused all my men. I was expecting… oh what do you say?” He paused as if he were searching for a word. “Ah, yes… open a can of whooping ass?” He laughed hysterically. “But here you are!” I was wrong, the dialect clearly sounded Mandarin in origin. “How does the American saying go? Came to shit but only farted?” The laughing continued. “Maybe you should shit of get off the top, Mister Lance Carter!” His hysterical laughter was getting on my nerves but this time he had company. I could detect two other distinct and familiar voices.
“No, boss,” a voice interjected laughing, “it be shit or…” he grunted out loud a the same time I heard a thump from the direction of his voice. It sounded a lot like Wade.
“I know, you dumb shit,” the voice I now identified as Ram Don Ming said angrily, “you are not correcting me! Turn on the fucking light, you imbecile.” A light came on. Foot steps came towards me quickly, then a shuffle. “So, Lance.. can I call you Lance?” He paused as if he were waiting for a response. I chose not to offer one. “Alright, Lance it is. So, Lance here we are. I’m standing here above you. You are there lying not the ground like dirt. It is as it always has been. You know that, do you not? You are there lying on the ground like worthless dirt, that is my ground by the way. I own it. You are bleeding to death all over it. What a mess.” He chuckled softly to himself. I looked up at him and put my best scowl on, which was not all that impressive at the moment being that I couldn’t actually lift my head up.
“I think…” I began to choke out.
“You are bleeding to death, Lance Carter. You may not believe it but this moment and in this place is where you will die. You turned out to be not very tough Mister Lance Carter.”
“I think,” I coughed out while struggling to open my eyes and focus on him, “that is a vast overstatement you small piece of…” a kick landed squarely between the shoulder blades effectively ending my ability to do anything but moan and cough.
“You, Lance Carter,” his repetitive use of my name was really irritating, “are in no position to be talking.. how do you say in English?” He fumbled for words and I could hear him snapping his fingers, “Oh yes, talking the trash out! Is that right Wade?” There was no answer in spite of the incorrect euphemism, “I have to tell you Lance. Your language and its slang it is very challenging at times.”
I took a deep breath and coughed blood. “You… seem… to have… a pretty good… grasp… asshole.” Breathing became increasing difficult and I fell into a coughing fit.
“Well,” he began in a royal tone, “thank you Lance Carter. For that bit of the gratitude I will have Wade and Maurice kill you just a little bit faster.”
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