Running Hot by Jacob long (the lemonade war series .txt) 📕

Prologue
It was night when it happened, as it should be. It should always be night when evil intentions and evil ideas come to fruition; when the night can cloak the evil doers’ horrid faces and forked tongues. Only during the night, only during the time when quiet emptiness permeates the world can you hear evil’s terrible heart beat and feel its breath. Only at night should good men die.

David Jacobs was a young assistant district attorney, burning the midnight oil, working on the biggest, most important case of his life. At least, that’s how he felt. He was moderately well-built, with short, black hair. The papers and photos from his personal investigation were strewn about the top of his favorite oak desk. He wanted to sleep desperately, using a bottle of 1988 Jack Daniels as a sedative, but keeping one of the windows open in a vain attempt at keeping himself aware. He didn’t really know what the next move would be.
David had been staring blankly at all the pictures for some time, not even thinking about them or much of anything for that matter; too tired to think. Finally he took a sharp breath and shook his head, snapping himself out of his exhaustion-induced trance. The weariness wouldn’t go away though, and he didn’t try to fight it again. He would sleep here, he decided. David crossed his arms on the desk and lowered his head into their comforting embrace.
Suddenly the phone rang and he was startled to alertness; then it rang again, the noise like a piercing, explosive, needle in his brain. David snatched the phone off the receiver half-way through the third ring.
“What?” he snapped.
The voice on the other end was obviously distorted by some sort of device, it sounded like a monster was on the other end of the phone. “You sound tired David; still working on that big case?”
“You know it,” David said. “I’ve told you once already; all your warnings and threats won’t stop me. You’re going down.”
“I was really hoping you’d see things my way, David. now it’s too late for you… and your wife.”
David’s eyes flashed over to the stairs, at the top of which his beautiful wife slept peacefully. “You leave her out of this!”
“I’m sorry, David. For our purposes, what’s about to happen to her has become a necessary evil on our part.”
“Don’t you dare,” David growled.
“You’re not in a position to be making threats, David; Not in your situation.”
David shot to his feet, eyes darting wildly about the room. He didn’t notice the black-clad figure slip, so silently, into his study through the window behind him. Nor did he hear the knife being drawn out of the shadows. His only warning was a light tap on his right shoulder. In immediate reaction he whirled around to face the stranger. The knife came down and plunged into his shoulder; the pain, searing and terrible. The assailant was vicious; he pushed the wounded attorney onto the desk and pinned him there, stabbing again and again; in the chest and in the stomach. David tried to scream but his punctured lungs didn’t have the strength. The killer was murdering him with a primal fury.
Soon the abhorrent scene was complete. David lay sprawled over the desk; dead for certain. Blood was draining out of the dozens of holes in his body and onto the papers. The assailant stared at the display for a long moment, then pulled a bottle of oil out of his garments and squeezed the liquid onto the desk. He also proffered a matchbook; striking a match, the killer tossed it onto the desk. The desk, with all the papers and photos, set ablaze immediately in a brilliant flash of flame. The fire moved onto David’s blood and crawled onto his clothes. He was to be erased too.
The killer knew the fire wouldn’t go unnoticed for too long and promptly slipped back out the window.

David’s wife was awakened by the smell of smoke. She sat up in bed and took a couple precautionary sniffs. In the next moment she jumped out of bed and pulled on a silk robe. “David?” she called, drawing the bedroom door open.
She was met by the barrage of smoke the door was keeping at bay, so she covered her mouth and shuffled down the stairs. Her every thought revolved around whether or not David was safe. She turned the corner and moved into the study. There, revealed to her for hideous edification, was David’s body; burning on his desk. The fire had caught onto the drapes and was spreading to the rest of the house. Three heaving breaths escaped her mouth, and then Laurel let out a horrible, shrieking scream.

1)
“La luna del cacciatore.”

5 miles outside of Camden, New Jersey
July, 2007
1:38 am

Enter a loud New Jersey bar; it’s smoky from the cigarettes of a dozen addicted patrons. Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” plays on the juke box in the corner and a few Camden County College alumni are getting drunk and playing pool. A messy-haired man in a beat up leather jacket and jeans in his mid-to-late thirties is hunched over the bar.
“You want something new, or are you stickin’ with water?” the bartender grabbed the glass from in front of the messy-haired stranger and wiped it down for the fourth time. He’d been serving the stranger free glasses of water for almost an hour now and was getting fed up. The bartender was an out of shape old man with short, grey hair, and a beer gut of sorts.
The stranger didn’t answer. He continued to stare at his reflection in the shiny oak counter top; just waiting. He could hear the college students spew vulgar phrase after vulgar phrase. He didn’t know how the bartender could put up with it.
“I smelled like shit for a week after that!” one in a red shirt said.
It caused the stranger to let out a long, exasperated sigh that made the stranger sound like a deflating tire.
They continued on in this manner for some time. Finally one in a college sweater shouted, “Hey, look at this fuckin’ guy!”
“Holy shit!” Another one in a blue shirt moved up behind the stranger. “Check out his hair! He must have been here all night!” The kid put his hand on the stranger’s hair and tousled it with his fingers.
Reed smacked his hand away. “Hey! Don’t touch me!”
All three of them let out a mocking “Oooooohhh” simultaneously.
The one in the blue shirt took it farther. “Looks like we got an angry drunk!”
Reed and the bartender exchanged looks; Reed’s one of angry exasperation and the bartender’s one of concern… for his bar.
Red shirt leaned over to College sweater’s ear. “Ya know, as drunk as this guy is, we could probably take him for all he’s worth!”
“Yeah, letsh do it,” the other slurred in agreement.
“Do you play?” Red shirt indicated the pool table with his stick.
Reed nodded. “Yes.”
“For skins?”
“You can’t gamble in here!” the bartender shouted.
“Shut up old man!” Blue shirt yelled back.
The bartender obeyed reluctantly. You never know what a drunk man is capable of.
After a moment Reed said, “I don’t have any money.”
“Well then how about that cool jacket you got on?” College sweater put in.
“Heh heh, yeah and your shoes!”
“And that belt!”
Reed nodded. “Fine.”
“Alright,” Red shirt smiled. “We’ll each put down ten bucks and you put down all those. It’s us versus you.”
Reed heaved himself off the stool and grabbed a pool stick off the rack. As he was chalking up the pool stick he turned away from them and smiled. Beating a bunch of kids at pool wouldn’t be hard; especially a bunch of drunken college kids who were operating under the idea that he was drunk and they weren’t.
The order would be Red shirt, then Reed, Blue shirt, then Reed, and College sweater, then Reed; just to be fair.
Red shirt’s break; he leaned over the table with his pool stick off center and hit the cue ball as hard as he could. It shot into the set off pool balls and they flew off in different directions. Amidst all the movement, Reed saw the 9-ball roll into a corner pocket.
“Hoo-yeah!” Red shirt whooped. “We’re solids!”
He leaned back over the table and tried to strike at the cue ball but only managed to brush it. The ball spun about an inch.
“Looks like you got a chance; if you can see straight.” Blue shirt laughed.
Reed studied the table for a moment; then leaned over to the cue ball. He hit it into the wall. It bounced off and struck the ten-ball; knocking it into a corner pocket. The kids scoffed but moved uneasily.
“Lucky shot,” one said.
Reed moved around the table and hit the two-ball directly into the side pocket.
“That one was easy.”
Reed continued to knock balls into the pockets, soon the four-and-six-balls were gone too. On the twelve-ball shot, Reed got it in the hole but had to knock a solid in too.
“My turn,” Blue shirt said; moseying over to the table.
He bent down to take a shot; but wavered in place for a moment, then simply fell to the floor.
“Well,” Reed said, “looks like it’s not his turn after all. 8-ball, corner pocket.” Reed proceeded to knock the ball in with ease.
Reed leaned on the table and held his hand out. “Ten bucks.”
The two kids still conscious dug into their pockets and proffered ten dollar bills. Reed didn’t care about the rest of the money the unconscious one owed him; he just sat back down at the bar.
“Now I’ll have a drink,” he said.
The bartender smiled. “What’s your poison?”
“Scotch.” Reed rubbed his forehead.
The bartender grabbed a bottle of Highland Park off the back counter and poured a little bit into a small shot glass. Reed handed over some of his winnings and drank the shot slowly; trying to pick out individual tastes as the whole of the vile liquid slid over his tongue. As he was drinking the bartender broke the ten dollar bill and handed Reed his change. After Reed was finished with the shot he popped the shot glass back onto the counter and stuffed the money into his back pocket.
“I’ll have another,” Reed breathed.
As the bartender refilled the glass, one of the college kids said, “I’ll see you about your money, dude. Let’s go again.” It was clearly about more than money this time.
“Haven’t you lost enough?” Reed asked, raising the glass to his lips. “I’ve taken all I need from you.”
“You son of a bitch.” Red shirt grumbled.
Just then, Reed saw a look of terror flash on the bartender’s face. Reed instinctively ducked; pressing his head against the top of the counter. He could hear the swift whoosh of the pool stick tearing through the air above him as it swept over his head. After it passed, Reed spun around on the stool and punched Red shirt in the gut; causing him to double over and drop the stick. Reed didn’t want to drop his drink so he uppercut him in the face with the same hand. Red shirt stumbled backward and fell on his back.
Upon standing, Reed was tackled against the bar by College sweater. Reed felt the lip of the counter dig into his spine and he let out a loud groan. The drink almost spilled too. Reed took