I had no idea what that word meant, so here’s the definition:

• velleity \ vuh-LEE-i-tee \ , noun;
  1. Volition in its weakest form.
  2. A mere wish, unaccompanied by an effort to obtain it.

Now you can say you learned something today! Yay for educational blog content!

Ok, on to the story.

Velleity – 1,220 words

“What’s it gonna take to get you to rise up and be men?”

Preacher’s voice echoes in my ears, and I snap my head up, taking in my surroundings. I sit at the jungle’s edge, drifting off, cradling Erma, my “second wife.” She’s wrapped in my poncho. Rainwater runs down my back and pools beneath me. I see my breath in the chilled night air.

The compound before me is stirring. de Corsa is about to move. Seven pickups sit in the courtyard, engines running. He doesn’t fear the authorities. Probably owns half of them already. But de Corsa isn’t stupid. The US-sponsored counter-drug missions may not be effective, but he’s not going to parade a shipment of cocaine in front of them by daylight.

I pat Erma. “Time to get ready. He’ll be out soon.”

Bodyguards file out, taking positions. “Like anyone’s really going to storm his compound, right?” Erma says nothing, just watches.

They’re carrying M-4 carbines, AK-47s… a few have P90s. Everyone carries a shoulder-holster sidearm. I know from past observations each of those pickup trucks has an M-60 in the flatbed.

“He must be getting softer after all these years, you think? Not like anyone’s given him cause to be scared since Valentin.”

She’s quiet still, snug and dry in the poncho. Never likes waking up, that one. I check my gear as I chat with her.

“No one but Preacher,” I continue. “And everybody saw how that played out.”

I see him again, pacing at the front of the church a week ago, screaming at the congregation like a good Southern Baptist. “You all turned the other cheek and bowed your heads when de Corsa took over. But it wasn’t love moving you. It was fear!”

His voice rang out in the silence. Tears ran down his bright red face, across straining neck muscles. “I know!” he cried out. “I did it too. I thought if I put my head down, preached nice useless sermons, handed out some fruit now and then, it would all be fine.”

He pounded the podium and pointed at the caskets behind him. “It. Is. Not. Fine!”

Wasn’t nothing in them… there wasn’t enough to bury after the car bomb killed his wife and girl. But I saw something inside of Preacher now, and I wasn’t sure if it was the Lord or the Devil.

Preacher decided to stand up to de Corsa, and he told us we should too. I saw heads nod in the church… the same faces that closed up shutters and locked doors when de Corsa came to town the next day.

Maybe they all knew what I knew. There’s always another de Corsa. You kill this guy, someone else will come along to run the operation. Or a few someones, and they’ll fight it out. Either way, the townfolk lose. The devil we know is better than one we don’t.

That’s what I been telling myself for the last fifteen years. Back then the big name was Valentin. I put a bullet between his eyes. Erma was there for that one, too.

Don’t know if it was Valentin’s boys or their rivals, but two dozen townfolk got rounded up and butchered in the street a day later. One was my lady friend. One was our son.

When Ana died, I learned what it would take to get me to sit down, look the other way, pretend to not hear the cry for help.

I feel a twinge in my chest as I see their faces again, but I shut that crap down fast. It’s not even scar tissue now. “No distractions, Erma. Let’s do this.”

Erma still won’t say anything. Gives me that cold shoulder of hers, the one that won’t quit until I’m honest. I know what she’s thinking. Why now? You been hiding all this time, why step up now?

Valid question.

“Men like de Corsa need to know not everyone quivers when they walk by.”

Erma doesn’t respond. I don’t think she buys it.

“He’s an animal, a wild jackal tearing at the weak, picking the bones clean. You don’t coexist with a beast like him. You take him out.”

I really hope she lets up on me, but I know she won’t. She just sits there, cold, lifeless. Like Ana.

Not my lady friend, not that Ana. “It’s Preacher’s daughter,” I finally admit.

Erma’s listening now.

“You weren’t there,” I tell her. “You were downstairs.”

They dragged Preacher through the streets, let everyone see him broken and bleeding. Said he assaulted the compound, killed a few men with a shotgun he got from God knows where.

They left him lying on his back in the dirt, and de Corsa’s limo pulled up. He walked out, kicked Preacher in the ribs, laughed as he doubled up. Then de Corsa calls out for everyone else to hear, “You killed my men. So what? You think you hurt me?”

He pulled out a gun and shot his own men. Two of them, dead right there on the road. “They don’t mean anything to me,” he explained. Then he signaled to his men, and they pulled a little girl out of the limo. She was tied up and gagged, but everyone could see it was Preacher’s daughter, Ana.

Preacher broke down, crawled toward her. And de Corsa ambled alongside him. “Oh yes, it’s her. We took her after we drugged your wife and left her in the car. She’d fetch a pretty penny across the Pacific.”

Then he shot her. And while she bled out, he turned to Preacher, hard as a headstone. “Where’s God now? Is He coming to get me?”

Preacher didn’t say nothing, but we all heard him sobbing into the dirt. And then de Corsa put the barrel to Preacher’s head and fired.

And I stood in my living room and watched through the blinds. de Corsa waved his gun around a bit, threatened everyone else. Seemed disappointed when no one answered him. I watched him spit on Preacher and get in his limo and drive away.

“That’s why, Erma,” I said. I had her attention now. “I didn’t do nothing. And I could have.”

Better late than never, Erma seems to say. I reach into my cargo pocket. Three-thirty-eight Magnum rounds are a bit bigger than most, but they’re wicked accurate and pack a better punch at range. My clip has five rounds.

I only need one.

I pick up my Erma SR-100 and sight in on the mansion’s side door. It swings open and two more guards step out, weapons ready. Then I see him.

He takes two steps into the courtyard, laughing with one of his henchmen.

I squeeze. De Corsa’s head disappears. His body slumps forward, hitting the nearest truck with a thud I swear I can hear from six hundred meters. His men panic, waving guns around.

I press the remote trigger in my pocket. Seven trucks go up in roiling flames, then the eighth bomb next to the gas main takes down half the compound. Fires light up the night sky, and I hear the screams of men knocking on the doors of hell.

“What’s it gonna take for you to rise up?” I can answer your question now, Preacher.

I’m sorry; it took Ana.

Director: Matt Piedmont

Writer: Andrew Steele

But oftentimes, the people who are filtering the drugs into the hands of children are not living the high life.

A judge Tuesday sentenced Claudia Perez-Leal to 18 years in prison for running a sophisticated cocaine operation in the Southern United States.

Her defense lawyer called her a nice lady, and said she was a loving mom.

The arrest likely surprised people in the community, as Perez-Leal had never had even a minor infraction or ticket.

She lived in a double wide trailer and was not exhibiting the signs of luxury, mostly associated with drug kingpins.

In fact when federal agents moved in and arrested the woman and her husband, she had no real assets or money to seize.

This case reminds us that drug dealers don’t have a certain look, and they blend into society like everyone else, as normal husbands or wives, and often the are attentive parents.

Most people come to the great north woods and Lake Superior during the summer, but my own schedule often takes me away. This past week I’ve been in southern California, where I lived for eight years going to college and grad school. So a vacation, but with familiarity thrown in.

Sort of.

I say “sort of” because one of the houses I lived in was a spectacular redwood and glass structure that sat on a hill in the middle of a ten-acre eucalyptus grove. It had an infinity pool, a guest house, a stable, AND it overlooked the flower fields in Encinitas. Acres and acres of flowers, all waiting to be plucked and shipped to florists.

I lived in this amazing place for the princely sum of $525 a month and the United States government was my landlord. The place had been built by a drug lord (now in prison) and the government had repossessed the house. They just wanted someone in the house and I was the lucky one.

It was so off-the-charts spectacular it should’ve been immune from subdivision sprawl … but no. The house, the flower fields, everything was gone and the whole area was just one massive sprawl of houses and streets. So much for familiarity.

From there it was up to Newport Beach, where – amongst other things – I spent a couple days kayaking. Normally I kayak with eagles, the occasional otter, and other oddities. This summer a shipwreck from the 1800s has even materialized offshore, still in deep water but now uncovered by shifting sand.

But in Newport I got to kayak with yachts and cruise ships. Totally different than my normal kayaking – lots of traffic, lots of human and mechanical activity on the water. It was a blast! I used an ocean kayak, which was a bit like kayaking with a Fisher-Price kiddy toy but it maneuvered great.

So what about the cat with the Mohawk?

Well, that would be my own cat. During this trip our college age kids remained at home, working their summer jobs. In a fit of boredom, or creative inspiration, they gave our 15-year-old cat a Mohawk haircut, shaving off all his fur save for a spiky stripe along his spine. I walked into the house last night and he immediately glared at me and started yowling. Apparently, he was not amused. (Having known my kids all their lives I thought it was pretty funny.)

So there you have it … kayaking with yachts, and cats with Mohawks. Just another ordinary week.

–Lesley

Fifth in the Delilah Street, Paranormal Investigator urban fantasy series set in Las Vegas and revolving around the excessively dramatic Delilah Street.

My Take
I had a hard time plowing through this. I think I even got up to do dishes… I really do like the premise of this story. If we could just get a different primary character. I really can’t stand Delilah. She is such a major drama queen and a prick tease. Practically every sentence out of her mouth is melodramatic…I can almost see her raising an arm to put it to her brow and then swoon…gawd… It’s an urban soap opera.

I do like that Douglas provides a synopsis of the series to date before you start the new story. But I do have to take issue with some of the “details”. I still haven’t figured out “why those post-concert kisses are so bloody irresistible” to Delilah so I guess it’s a good thing that Douglas is telling us they are. I certainly don’t understand her drama about her silver familiar. I’d be too happy about its aid to be complaining!

I’m going to assume that Ric’s visit to the Lust Level at the Inferno is setting us up for the next book, otherwise it’s simply superfluous even if it does introduce us to a perverse use of CinSims. Although Douglas does provides a more in-depth introduction to the regular cast of CinSims as well as this new group. We also learn Sansouci’s background. And it is not what I expected.

Groogle??? Giggle? Whatever. It does manage to bring a face-to-face with Delilah’s mother and a new method of travel for her.

Okay, another reason I don’t like Delilah. She expects everyone around her to put out. She simply doesn’t expect to have to return the favor. Or even be honest in her own turn. What’s with that? In the real world, segues and consequences occur. In the Delilah world, piffle, just write a few words and gloss over anything.

Well, even as another door to the past closes, yet more doors are opening on the future in Delilah’s world. It’ll certainly be interesting to see where her paranoia takes her.

And someone needs to explain that “Louie XVI” is more properly “Louis”…unless this is the Vegas version of his name.

The Story
Every since Delilah trapped Loretta in the mirror world, she’s been too worried to walk on in, but events require her to travel the fey ways through the mirror. And, oopsie, she definitely should have stayed out. It seems Loretta got free of her bonds and has a pair of new allies. Allies who will do anything to hurt Delilah. A hurt that indirectly may destroy Ric!

Meanwhile Ric is meeting with Snow over his raising of the Silver Zombie and the very precarious position it creates for Ric. Adding yet another organization gunning for him. Delilah, of course, has enough…um…people? coming after her and this new trick of Loretta’s and some comments Sansouci has made do not bode well for the future.

A future that will be challenged by Delilah’s furtive jaunt to Juarez tailing Ric and Tallgrass.

The Characters
Delilah Street is a vamp magnet, former news reporter, and now a paranormal investigator working the streets of Las Vegas with a silver familiar courtesy of Snow. We’ve also learned about the traumas of her past and have a better understanding of why she is such a control freak. Lilith Quince is her CSI double, but somehow her alter ego as well. Dolly is her Biarritz Caddie while Quicksilver is her something else wolfhound with the healing powers and a strong need to protect Delilah. Irma is her conscience-riding friend. Vida is Delilah’s mother and her tale is a longevity shocker with all sorts of branching pathways.

Ricardo Montoya, a.k.a., the Cadaver Kid, is former FBI with a personal mission to eliminate the raising of zombies as laborers or CinSims with the help of his silver eye. He intends to right the wrongs of his youth. Leonard Tallgrass is Native American and a former FBI colleague of Ric’s who has been invited on the new task force in Mexico.

Hector Nightwine is Delilah’s landlord and one of the Vegas heavyweights for whom she consults. His butler, Godfrey, is a CinSim from My Man, Godfrey and takes excellent and somewhat fatherly care of Delilah.

Howard Hughes (billionaire-turned-vampire) is another of her clients; he seems to own a lot more of Vegas than anyone suspects. Shezmou (see Vampire Sunrise) is both the Lord of the Slaughter and wine god in Egyptian mythology. He’s opened his own wine and oils shop in Vegas with Delilah as his partner. Bez is his mini partner of sorts, the god of childbirth and a bit of a perve.

Cesar Cicereau is a werewolf mob boss who owns the Gehenna Hotel and hates Delilah. Loretta Cicereau is the ghost of the teen daughter her father had tortured and murdered. And she’s back for vengeance. Sansouci is a daytime-walking vampire held hostage by and working for Cicereau. He keeps a stable of women from whom he “sips” although he claims he would give them all up for Delilah. Madrigal is a captive magician with his very unstable, jealous pair of fey helpers, Sylphia and Phasia.

Snow, a.k.a., Cocaine (of the rock band Seven Deadly Sins), a.k.a., Christophe (owner of the Inferno Hotel) has a creepy interest in Delilah and an even creepier offer for Ric. And some very interesting plans involving the vintage film Metropolis. Grizelle is Snow’s shape-shifting security chief who turns into a white tiger. She hates Delilah.

El Demonio Torbellino, Ric’s former “owner”, is raising an army.

The Immortality Mob resurrects the dead and imprints black-and-white film screen actors onto the zombies. CinSims. A practice Ric wants to destroy.

The Cover
Cool cover! It’s Snow’s Metropolis Tower in the background with a giant e-billboard featuring the Silver Zombie herself, but, not to worry, pirate Delilah is on the case with sword in hand. I’m not quite sure where the pirate costume comes in, but, then again, this is Delilah…

Per the story, there are three Virtual Virgins. Delilah, the Silver Zombie, and yet another new drink.

View all my reviews

Dog Day Afternoon is a tense, dialogue driven thriller.  I love it.  Al Pacino plays a bank robber attempting a heist to get money for his boyfriend’s sex-change operation.  The underrated John Cazale plays his quiet partner in crime, whose motivations are unclear.  From start to finish, we are kept on the edge of our seats in suspense, not sure who to root for.  Admittedly, the film is dated; however through this nostalgia we are treated to a chronicle of the unrest of the 1970s.  The crowds laud the bank robbers as heroes and media celebrities.  Dog Day Afternoon is one of the best heist movies ever made, mostly because of the taught, no-nonsense screenplay (which won an Academy Award).

Scarface (1983)

More Pacino today, this time in Scarface, a long, violent crime epic about Cuban immigrant Tony Montana who works his way to the top of the crime world dealing (and snorting) cocaine.  This is an unpleasant, unnecessary film.  By trying to be the next Godfather, it succeeds in only being slightly more confusing.  There is way too much happening in too little time, and the fact that it’s almost impossible to understand what the characters are saying doesn’t help.  I finally turned the subtitles on.  The film is further spoiled by annoying and intrusive music, not to mention an excruciatingly gratuitous us of the “f-word”.  Far be it from me to balk at language in a movie, but Kyrie Eleison!  It beats you over the head with it.  It’s like listening to an obnoxious song over and over again.  Perhaps Scarface is just a big joke.  Maybe it was born by Oliver Stone losing a bet to write the longest, most unpleasant movie ever.  It is neither of these.  But it tries really hard to be.

Deutsch: the fast and the furious logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Gun toting drug lords came marching in full force

Bullets flying in a frenzied battle to cross the border

Blazing with no regard for anyone caught in the  crossfire

Shooting just as Fast and Furious as they possibly could

Allegations and Accusations surround the bandoleros

Conspiracy to aid El Presidente being just one of many

Cut throat Killers or Perhaps Murder for Greater Chaos

Related articles

• Agent Brian Terry’s Parents Speak Out On Fast And Furious In Emotional Interview With Hannity (mediaite.com)

  Navy arrests the “wrong man” after initially believing he is the son of top fugitive drug lord ‘El Chapo’.

After working with US intelligence for months, the Mexican navy said it believed it had nabbed a big prize in a known Guadalajara narco-haven: the son of Mexico‘s top fugitive drug lord. But it turned out they got the wrong man. Courtesy: http://www.aljazeera.com/news/americas/2012/06/20126234161891596.html

“Álvaro Uribe’s niece and her mother to stand trial over alleged ties to Sinaloa cartel drug lord, Joaquín ‘El Chapo’ Guzmán

Sibylla Brodzinsky in Bogotá

A niece of former the Colombian president Álvaro Uribe and her mother are awaiting extradition to the US over claims they had ties to the world’s most wanted drug lord.

Ana Maria Uribe Cifuentes and her mother, Dolly Cifuentes Villa, were arrested last year after a request from a US federal court for alleged ties to the head of Mexico’s Sinaloa Cartel, Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán.

According to an investigation published by the Nuevo Arco Iris political research centre in Bogotá, Uribe Cifuentes is the daughter of former president Álvaro Uribe’s brother Jaime, who died of throat cancer in 2001.

Both women are alleged to belong to the Cifuentes Villa clan which, according to the Drug Enforcement Administration, trafficked at least 30 tonnes of cocaine to the US between 2009 and 2011, and laundered the proceeds in several Latin American countries including Colombia.

On Friday, Colombian police announced they had seized US$15m (£10m) in assets from the Sinaloa cartel, owned by Cifuentes Villa and two of her brothers on behalf of El Chapo.

On Sunday, Álvaro Uribe denied any knowledge of Jaime’s relationship with Cifuentes Villa, or the existence of his niece, despite the fact the investigation has a fax of a birth certificate declaring Jaime Uribe as her father.

“My brother Jaime died in 2001, married to Astrid Velez, they had two children … Any other romantic relationship that my brother may have had was part of his personal life and is unknown to me,” Álvaro Uribe tweeted on Sunday. He denied Jaime was ever linked to the drug lord Pablo Escobar.

According to the Nuevo Arco Iris investigation, Jaime Uribe was arrested and interrogated by the army in 1986 after detectives discovered calls had been made from his carphone to Escobar, leader of the Medellín cartel.

Álvaro Uribe acknowledged that his brother had been arrested but said he had been released and charges were dropped, claiming Jaime was recovering from throat surgery in a local hospital at the time the calls were made. “His car phone was cloned by criminals,” Alvaro Uribe tweeted.

The Uribe family has long faced accusations of ties to drug trafficking. A US intelligence report from 1991, declassified in 2004, identified Álvaro Uribe as a “close friend” of Escobar, who was “dedicated to collaboration with the Medellín cartel”. It also says Uribe’s father was murdered “for his connection with the narcotic (sic) traffickers”. Officially Uribe’s father died while trying to resist being kidnapped by leftist guerrillas in 1983.

The US state department disavowed the intelligence report when it was published, during Uribe’s second year in office, saying it had “no credible information” to substantiate the information.

Another Uribe brother, Santiago, isbeing investigated over the alleged founding and leadership of a rightwing paramilitary group, while Uribe’s cousin Mario lost his seat in the senate and was jailed for seven and a half years over ties to paramilitaries, main players in Colombia’s drug trade.”

————————————————————–

Douglas McNabb – McNabb Associates, P.C.’s
International Extradition Lawyers Videos:

International Extradition – When the FBI Seeks Extradition

International Extradition – Wire Transfer – Email – Telephone Call

————————————————————–

We previously discussed the extradition treaty between the United States and Colombia here.

————————————————————–

To find additional global criminal news, please read The Global Criminal Defense Daily.

Douglas McNabb and other members of the U.S. law firm practice and write and/or report extensively on matters involving Federal Criminal Defense, INTERPOL Red Notice Removal, International Extradition Defense, OFAC SDN Sanctions Removal, International Criminal Court Defense, and US Seizure of Non-Resident, Foreign-Owned Assets. Because we have experience dealing with INTERPOL, our firm understands the inter-relationship that INTERPOL’s “Red Notice” brings to this equation.

The author of this blog is Douglas C. McNabb. Please feel free to contact him directly at mcnabb@mcnabbassociates.com or at one of the offices listed above.

————————————————————–

International criminal defense questions, but want to be anonymous?

“Álvaro Uribe’s niece and her mother to stand trial over alleged ties to Sinaloa cartel drug lord, Joaquín ‘El Chapo’ Guzmán

Sibylla Brodzinsky in Bogotá

A niece of former the Colombian president Álvaro Uribe and her mother are awaiting extradition to the US over claims they had ties to the world’s most wanted drug lord.

Ana Maria Uribe Cifuentes and her mother, Dolly Cifuentes Villa, were arrested last year after a request from a US federal court for alleged ties to the head of Mexico’s Sinaloa Cartel, Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán.

According to an investigation published by the Nuevo Arco Iris political research centre in Bogotá, Uribe Cifuentes is the daughter of former president Álvaro Uribe’s brother Jaime, who died of throat cancer in 2001.

Both women are alleged to belong to the Cifuentes Villa clan which, according to the Drug Enforcement Administration, trafficked at least 30 tonnes of cocaine to the US between 2009 and 2011, and laundered the proceeds in several Latin American countries including Colombia.

On Friday, Colombian police announced they had seized US$15m (£10m) in assets from the Sinaloa cartel, owned by Cifuentes Villa and two of her brothers on behalf of El Chapo.

On Sunday, Álvaro Uribe denied any knowledge of Jaime’s relationship with Cifuentes Villa, or the existence of his niece, despite the fact the investigation has a fax of a birth certificate declaring Jaime Uribe as her father.

“My brother Jaime died in 2001, married to Astrid Velez, they had two children … Any other romantic relationship that my brother may have had was part of his personal life and is unknown to me,” Álvaro Uribe tweeted on Sunday. He denied Jaime was ever linked to the drug lord Pablo Escobar.

According to the Nuevo Arco Iris investigation, Jaime Uribe was arrested and interrogated by the army in 1986 after detectives discovered calls had been made from his carphone to Escobar, leader of the Medellín cartel.

Álvaro Uribe acknowledged that his brother had been arrested but said he had been released and charges were dropped, claiming Jaime was recovering from throat surgery in a local hospital at the time the calls were made. “His car phone was cloned by criminals,” Alvaro Uribe tweeted.

The Uribe family has long faced accusations of ties to drug trafficking. A US intelligence report from 1991, declassified in 2004, identified Álvaro Uribe as a “close friend” of Escobar, who was “dedicated to collaboration with the Medellín cartel”. It also says Uribe’s father was murdered “for his connection with the narcotic (sic) traffickers”. Officially Uribe’s father died while trying to resist being kidnapped by leftist guerrillas in 1983.

The US state department disavowed the intelligence report when it was published, during Uribe’s second year in office, saying it had “no credible information” to substantiate the information.

Another Uribe brother, Santiago, isbeing investigated over the alleged founding and leadership of a rightwing paramilitary group, while Uribe’s cousin Mario lost his seat in the senate and was jailed for seven and a half years over ties to paramilitaries, main players in Colombia’s drug trade.”

————————————————————–

Douglas McNabb – McNabb Associates, P.C.’s
International Extradition Lawyers Videos:

International Extradition – When the FBI Seeks Extradition

International Extradition – Wire Transfer – Email – Telephone Call

————————————————————–

We previously discussed the extradition treaty between the United States and Colombia here.

————————————————————–

To find additional global criminal news, please read The Global Criminal Defense Daily.

Douglas McNabb and other members of the U.S. law firm practice and write and/or report extensively on matters involving Federal Criminal Defense, INTERPOL Red Notice Removal, International Extradition Defense, OFAC SDN Sanctions Removal, International Criminal Court Defense, and US Seizure of Non-Resident, Foreign-Owned Assets. Because we have experience dealing with INTERPOL, our firm understands the inter-relationship that INTERPOL’s “Red Notice” brings to this equation.

The author of this blog is Douglas C. McNabb. Please feel free to contact him directly at mcnabb@mcnabbassociates.com or at one of the offices listed above.

————————————————————–

International criminal defense questions, but want to be anonymous?

NEW YORK (AP) — A notorious Jamaican drug lord who pleaded guilty in New York to drug and gun trafficking charges has been sentenced to 23 years in prison.

That’s the same prison term that federal prosecutors in Manhattan had sought for Christopher “Dudus” Coke.

Coke was captured in Jamaica in 2010 after a bloody siege of his stronghold in a slum west of Kingston left more than 70 dead.

Coke had written the judge to describe good deeds he did for slum-dwellers and to seek mercy. But several women abused by Coke’s gang in Jamaica begged for a harsh punishment.

Prosecutors say Coke terrorized anyone who interfered with his drug operation.

Coke told the judge he deserved a break because he’s a “good person.”

Copyright 2012 The Associated Press.

Director: Ernest Dickerson

Writers: Joe Gayton and Lewis Colick

(Story by Joe Gayton)

Oh whatever.

“I think anything involved in telling stories is not just worthy, it’s crucial. Otherwise, how the hell do we find out who we are unless we explain ourselves to each other via books, or cinema, or theatre, or journalism, or documentary, or whatever? If we’re just parading egos around, or acquiring stuff, and we measure ourselves by that, then we’re lost.”

- Alan Rickman in an anterview aired 1/21/12 on NY1 network

Ah, soak on that for a bit.

I’ve been writing all my life, blah blah yadda yadda, stories archived somewhere in my parents’ house, why the hell would you like the smell of gasoline?, papers with fragments of stories scattered all over my room, put the knife down, missy!, never enough notebooks and pens, more blah blah, fast forward to now.

I wrote a book about a young woman named Scarlett who is an Interpol agent and then she gets hired as a caregiver for London’s biggest drug lord and she’s like tough and handy with guns and knives and all that awesome stuff you don’t want to miss.

However, this post isn’t to talk about what goes on in the book, but about what inspired me to write it.

I use a lot of movies for inspiration (bad writer! I blame @mikecane for most of the recommendations) because I come from an audiovisual background and believe they help a lot with rhythm when it comes to action scenes. So, here’s a little list I made for y’all:

Layer Cake, book by J. J. Connolly:

(Click on the image to go to Amazon’s Kindle Store)

I must say I really liked this book even though it took me some time to read it. The cockney accents, the action, the twists. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t like.

How did I get my hands on the book? I saw the movie, got the book, read it, and I don’t regret doing it (they work well as standalones). I recommend them both, separately.

Layer Cake movie

The trailer:

It’s a great movie, and these scenes deserve a special mention:

The opening monologue (NSFW):

The audio isn’t very good, but it’s worth it if you haven’t seen it.

And the awesome song + action mashup scene:

London Boulevard, book by Ken Bruen

(Click on the image to go to Amazon’s Kindle Store)

Ah, this book. I also read it after watching the movie and was pleasantly surprised because it has almost nothing to do with the film. They have so little resemblance, but not in a bad way. They both have their merits.

I loved Ken Bruen’s style, got sucked into the story and came out another person. Yeah, I did. My head was so full of ideas I had to sit down and write or I’d die of an idea stroke.

Check out the movie trailer:

Gangster No. 1 movie

I have lost count of how many times I’ve seen this movie, it’s that good.

And, oh yes, the Mr. Nice movie

Goodness gracious that movie! I was loving every minute of it, then it got all dark and scary, then it went back to being likable. A must see.

I think the vids speak by themselves. They can also give you an idea on what to expect of Book 1 and what will come in Book 2. *wink wink*

Also, that’s a triple dose of David Thewlis for you right there!

A Girl Cut in Two movie

This is one of my favorite movies. It gets into the more psychological stuff. The theme of a May December romance takes a dark twist in it, which I like, even though I wouldn’t go there in my own stories (or would I?). If you’ve seen this movie and read my book, you’ll know where the reference is.

And last, but not least, a song that was on repeat all the effing time (with an excellent mash-up to Casino Royale’s opening credits). I’ll make a post about my playlist later on, but I’ll leave you with this one for now:

This is both a very simple and violent film, great Direction, jaw-dropping stunts and not one dull minute.

Based in slums of Jakarta, when a police raid on tenement building of a drug lord, this turns into a non-stop blood bath leaving the few remaining survivors of the invading SWAT team to fight their way up to the top and end the psychotic criminal’s violent reign once and for all.

Director: Gareth Evans.

Starring: Iko Uwais (a guy to watch out for, the next Jackie Chain). An ace in Indonesian martial arts and has won some big championships. He is also an ex B-league footballer, who stopped his dream of becoming a football star after his club went bankrupt. Post that Iko took up a driver’s job in a telcom company.

He was discovered by Gareth Evans who was filming a documentary about Silat in Iko’s Silat School. After signing a five year contract with Gareth Evans and his production company, Iko resigned from his daytime job as a driver.

Iko is also one of the Fight Choreographers of The Raid: Redemption

Music: Composed by  Mike Shinoda (Linkin Park) & Joseph Trapanese (a composer, arranger and producer) is good.

Written by me (@artistikem) and edited by Diana Campo (@dianadhevi).

And here is chapter 2. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

My first evening in Sayer’s mansion passed quietly and without much trouble. Helga came back with his meds, repeated what seemed like a hundred times that his physician, Dr. Hart, had ordered to keep him in bed at all times, and showed me how he liked his tea made, for whenever George wasn’t available. Of course, Mr. Sayer didn’t comply with staying bed-ridden, so I let him be and went to sleep early.

On my second day, I met George, or should I say, I saw George’s frown float around the house without proffering more than a “Top of the morning” and an about-face. The man, with long arms and skinny fingers, wouldn’t talk or even look at me. At one point I tried to step in his way so he would have to at least stop one second and acknowledge my presence. However, it didn’t work. Nothing did. By nightfall, I had given up for the day, and when Helga came by and asked me if I had met him, I told her we had gotten acquainted quite well. If he didn’t want anything to do with me, I wouldn’t push him.

Late on the third day, Helga brought a list of errands for me, which Mr. Sayer dismissed the moment she was out the door. Finding myself without work in my new workplace, I retired to my room and went through my clothes, uniforms and the few things I had brought… for the hundredth time. This was going to be harder than I thought.

It was around ten in the evening, as I wandered around the house, when I saw that the lights in the office were lit. I walked towards it, drawn like a moth, and found Mr. Sayer sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone. As soon as he saw me, I tried to make my escape.

“Scarlett?”

He saw me. I froze, but then decided that, since he had called my name, I couldn’t ignore him, so I turned around. He hung up the phone and beckoned me into the room.

“You shouldn’t be walking around the house this late, Mr. Sayer.”

“What other lies did my sister tell you? What else did she instruct you to prohibit me?”

“Pretty much everything that isn’t staying in bed the whole day.”

He chuckled, finding it amusing somehow, while I stood behind an elegant leather chair, my hands clutching the seams.

He walked around the desk. “As much as I love my sister, I can’t let her do this to me. She’s always been very possessive, but this has gone too far,” he leaned back on the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s why I asked her to find someone other than George that could take care of me. So I could get her off my back.”

“Whose instructions should I follow, then?”

“When Helga is around, act as if you’re following hers. But really, all I need is someone to be around so she stops harassing me about being ill and sleeping all day. You can do whatever you want, really. I have things to do and I must get back to them as soon as possible.”

“I understand.”

“Good to know that you do. Now, would you be nice enough to bring me some tea? I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but George is out and won’t be back until early morning.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

I ran quickly down the stairs to the first floor and made the tea as Helga had instructed me. I took a lot of care on how I placed everything on the tray so it would all stay put through the flights of stairs back to Sayer’s office.
He waved for me to come in the moment I reached the door, all the while keeping an animated conversation with someone on the other side of the phone.

“Call me if you make arrangements for next Thursday, Max. See you then.”

“No wonder your sister is so worried about you. Making plans already?” I commented as soon as he hung up.

“You brought only one cup.”

“The tea is for you, Mr. Sayer.”

“Don’t you like tea? It’s very soothing. Helps me sleep when I’m stressed.”

“As a matter of fact, I do like tea.”

“Then,” he rummaged inside one of his desk’s drawers and took out another cup, “have it with me. It may be the first of many. How do you like this place so far?”

“It’s a beautiful house. I like it very much,” I felt so at ease as he poured tea into both cups and slid one towards me, that I was starting to talk to him like I would to a friend. I straightened my back in an effort to straighten my demeanor.

“Are you keeping the job? You know you can walk out whenever you want if you don’t like it.”

“I’ve been here for only three days. So far so good.”

“I do hope you stay. This house feels so empty sometimes it makes me want to get out running like a mad man. Sit down. You don’t want to drink your tea standing up.”

“Yes, Mr. Sayer.”

A noise came from the floor below, startling us both.

“It’s too early for George to be back.” Another noise and Mr. Sayer left his seat and went to the window. “Drunk kids in the street.”

He walked away from the window and back to the desk when another noise, this time louder and closer, was heard. We left the office together – I tiptoed while he tried to step very slowly so his shoes wouldn’t make a sound – and searched for the source.

We kept looking down from the third floor to the second but saw nothing, then I went into one of the bedrooms and saw a shadow by the window. Mr. Sayer tried to pull me back but I didn’t yield. I pulled a 22 mm gun from my pocket and quietly sidestepped close to the wall towards the window.

The silhouette of a man came to view and I pointed my gun at it, ready to confront whoever was outside the window and crawling around the walls of the house. I could feel my own heavy breathing, as if the whole room was beating along with my heart, as if it knew that my finger was tightening its grip on the trigger, little by little.

“Don’t shoot the glass, it’s bulletproof,” Sayer whispered to my ear.

I released the trigger but kept my aim on the window. There was silence for a moment and no sign of the shadow or whatever it was that made the noises. When I turned around, Sayer was right behind me, his whole body stiff, his hands in tight fists.

“The drunken kids, I believe,” I commented sarcastically as I lowered my gun.

“Where did you get that gun?”

Then came a bang on one of the back doors, and I rushed into my room, pulled my luggage from under the bed and took out another gun, my handy 9 mm. When I came out of the room, Sayer was emerging from the library with a 40 mm and was shocked to see me holding a different gun to my side.

The noise rang out again, and all shock was left behind as I hastened down the stairs. He stayed behind. Not that I cared. I had to check on whatever was happening before he did.

I strode across the hall into the kitchen and saw another silhouette through the glass on the back door. It froze, as if it was looking at me, before turning to run away. I shot once and the bullet bounced right off it, hitting a wall, a lamp.

“Fuck!” I ducked until it stopped. The whole house was bulletproof.

I opened the door and sped through the grass into the backyard while the silhouette fled in zigzags, dodging my bullets. Then a second silhouette appeared out of nowhere and I could see the shiny metal gun glinting under the lampposts’ light. Before I could shoot, he was dead on the floor. I instinctively looked up and saw Sayer shutting a window on the second floor. This was my cue to go after the other one, the one that had stopped to see the fall of his companion.

I ran towards him and managed to close the distance between us before he realized I was on him. With his eyes still on the corpse, he pointed another shiny gun at me and squeezed the trigger once, missing me by inches. Not that he cared, because he was still standing in the same spot when I got dangerously near.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer, so I pressed my gun to his temple. “Answer me!”

He dropped the gun and took off the black mask that covered his face. His white skin stood out against the black of his suit. He was a young man, probably in his twenties. His nose tip was red, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m new to this.”

“Who sent you?”

“I can’t tell.”

“For fuck’s sake, just answer the fucking question!”

“I can’t! They’ll kill my family.”

I chuckled. “They must be dead by now, and you’ll also be dead if you don’t answer me.”

We both heard the limping steps of Sayer as he slowly approached us.

“Scarlett, go back inside!”

“I’ve got it Mr. Sayer,” I turned to face him, “don’t worry,” but was startled as he shot the guy before I could. The kid had picked up his gun and was about to shoot me without my notice.

“Get in!” Sayer roared, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back into the house.

His face was flushed, his brows were furrowed, and his eyes didn’t meet mine until we were in a study on the first floor. He pushed me into a chair, took my gun, placed it with his own on the table, and pulled out his mobile.

“George, we have two dead squirrels in the backyard,” he said before hanging up and turning back to me. “Who are you?”

His enraged eyes were gazing into mine and I could feel the trembling creeping up from my feet, through my legs and my body, down my arms and hands.

He took his gun back from the table, cocked it and pointed it to my head.

“My name is Scarlett Lang.”

“Who sent you?”

“I was recommended by Rafael Cisneros when your sister went to him searching for a caregiver.” I gulped before proceeding. “My grandfather owns the shooting range Cisneros uses to train his men.”

“Cisneros? You know Cisneros?”

“Yes. Adrian Lang is his name. My grandfather’s, I mean.”

The barrel of his gun cut through the thickness of the air between us, dispersing and redistributing it around the room, as he pulled it away from me.

“Helga,” he said to himself. “She means good, but in her effort she has exposed me. There is no doubt someone sent those kids because she’s being followed.”

My mouth felt dry and my heart was racing so fast I thought it would drill its way out of my chest.

“She knows that you handle guns, doesn’t she?”

“It was one of the requirements for hiring me, so that I could help protect you. After the attack on you and your family, she’s worried you’ll suffer another one.”

“That’s why I stayed here, to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now tell me, are you even a real nurse?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Well,” his face relaxed, and my trembling vanished. “Those two were young and inexperienced. It won’t help much to see what the security cameras recorded. We stopped them on time,” he said as he looked round, then turned to me, “and our tea must’ve gone cold. If you ask me,” he gave me my gun back, “it’s time for bed,” and limped out of the room.

“Night, sir.”

“You can keep the job, Scarlett,” his voice floated back through the hallway. “Couldn’t have found a better match for this myself.”

###

Scarlett Lang always dreamt of becoming an Interpol agent. When her hard work pays off and she’s given the chance to work as an undercover agent with London’s biggest drug lord, Armand Sayer, she can’t help being ecstatic about it.

She’s employed by Armand’s sister (to aid in his recovery from a gun attack) as both caregiver and bodyguard. Her resourcefulness in both areas helps her win much more than Armand’s trust, to the dismay of both his right-hand man and her ex-boyfriend / colleague.

As she makes her way into the business she swore to help tear down, she’s faced with the dilemma of choosing between being loyal to her profession or her heart. And we all know it can’t be both.

The book is already available for purchase on:

Smashwords & Amazon

Written by me (@artistikem) and edited by Diana Campo (@dianadhevi).

Chapter 1

“Do you know what you’re here for?” The woman with the English accent and stern eyes was peering at me, trying hard not to squint but failing.

“I am here to care for Mr. Sayer,” my accent was half-English, half-American, which made her wince every time I spoke.

I was standing in front of her with my hands behind my back to hide the nervous trembling that threatened to take over my whole body. My nurse uniform was wrinkle-free and my hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, thanks in part to a condescending taxi driver, at whom I barked – after he winked at me – “Addison Road. And you’ll be sorry if my uniform doesn’t make it unruffled!”

“You are young.” She stirred in her seat. “Why would you want to live inside this house, caring for an old man like Mr. Sayer, twenty-four hours a day?”

She would have said ‘young and pretty’ if that was the case. No, this isn’t about self-esteem issues. She just wanted it to be that way. She wasn’t going for ‘pretty’. She wanted someone that would be serious about her work whilst causing the least disturbance in the family. Simply put, she didn’t want Mr. Sayer falling for his caregiver.

“Caring for others is my calling, and I’ll be glad to do it twenty-four hours a day for the rest of my life.” That line would’ve made me puke in a normal situation, but this was rehearsed, of course. I thought it was a waste of time, but she didn’t give a shit about what I thought. It was her little play for the man in the adjacent room.

“Very well,” the woman eyed my resume, holding it with both hands close to her eyes, “it would be nice to have someone full of life in this house for a change.”

“Thank you.”

She cleared her throat, “Armand will have the last word.”

The trembling in my hands moved to my legs when she stood up and nodded for me to follow her into Mr. Sayer’s room.

There is a typical odor in the rooms of the sick, as if death came to visit them from time to time and left its stench in its wake. However, Mr. Sayer’s room was so full of flowers that it wouldn’t smell like death even if The Reaper himself were among us.

It was dark inside, there was only light enough to see one’s way around the bed. Mr. Sayer was sitting on the bed, and the moment he tried to reach one of the curtains to open it, the woman interfered.

“No, Armand, I’ll do it for you,” she opened it only enough for us to be able to see each other’s faces, “you shouldn’t move.”

“For fuck’s sake, woman! I can move, I’m not paralyzed.”

“But you shouldn’t, Armand. And don’t talk like that, there is someone here to meet you.”

He raised himself with his hands and turned to me. I can’t deny how scared I was to have him look at me from head to toe, as if measuring me up before opening his mouth to speak.

“And you are…?” he drawled.

“I’m…”

“Her name is Scarlett, she’ll be your new caregiver.”

“Oh,” he cocked an eyebrow towards me with a sarcastic smile, “welcome.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, now, Armand, you must rest. I have to go fetch your meds and run some errands. Will you start today, Scarlett?”

“Yes, I’m ready to start today.”

“Good. Let me show you to your room. Follow me.”

We went into the next room, but even as she showed me around and explained things to me, I didn’t see anything. My mind was running so fast I couldn’t concentrate. My attention snapped back abruptly when she asked me if I was all right.

“Excited to be here, that is all.”

She closed the door to what would be my private bathroom.

“You can stay here while I’m out. Today is George’s free day – he’s the butler – so if you need anything, go ahead and help yourself.”

Butler? I think he’d be insulted if he heard her call him ‘the butler.’

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You can call me Helga,” the stern façade had melted away and was giving way to a friendlier one, one that smiled before shutting the door behind her.

Alone at last, I gave a quick look around the room before going back to Mr. Sayer’s.

When I stepped into his room I noticed he had rolled to one side and pulled the blanket up to his ears.

“Is she gone?” he asked from his hiding place.

“Yes, sir, she’s gone.”

He pushed the blanket off, kicked it to the feet of the bed, and sat on the edge.

“Thank goodness…”

“But, Mr. Sayer, you shouldn’t be up…” I went to him but he stopped me, holding out his hand.

“What did she tell you?”

“Excuse me?”

“What were the instructions she gave you?”

“That you needed twenty-four-hour care because of your condition.”

“And what is this condition of mine?”

“You were shot thrice during a violent assault.”

“I was shot twice in my left leg and once in my right arm, yes. However,” he paused before proceeding, “that was over a month ago. I’m fine, I don’t need to rest so much, I should be out there having a stroll, for god’s sake! And these curtains…”

Before he was finished I was on my toes opening all the curtains and letting the room flood with light. He breathed in deeply, as if to smell the aroma of pure sunlight for the first time.

“What was your name again?”

“Scarlett, sir. And I must tell you I’m more forgiving than your wife.”

“She’s not my wife, she’s my sister.”

“Oh,” I breathed, letting some fake amusement slip through my parted lips. I already knew all about him, long before I applied for this job.

“I need to make some phone calls, if you’ll excuse me.” He got on his feet, stretched his back, and started for the door with a very noticeable limp. “Also,” he stopped at the threshold, “can you do something about the flowers? I’m neither sick nor dead.”

“I’ll do something about them.”

“You can burn them for all I care…” he turned away, then back to me, “just don’t get rid of all of them at the same time. Helga will notice and you’ve seen how she is.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be disposing of them one at a time.”

He turned to exit but paused again. “Burning them isn’t practical either. The neighbors will notice…”

“It’s OK, Mr. Sayer. I’ll take care of everything.”

He nodded, grinned, and left the room.

I was left on my own in a room filled with so much sunlight and flowers it looked more like a garden than a bedroom. As I picked out some of the smaller arrangements to be thrown out, I started pondering about Mr. Sayer – hair completely gray, in his late sixties, tall, handsome – and I wondered if there were business cards in his office that read:

 ARMAND SAYER

Drug Lord

###

It’ll be available in ebook format through Smashwords and Amazon.

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

AIRLIGHT BUILDING, 30TH FLOOR

PENTHOUSE OF FLARAN ORDITH, A NEW YORK DRUG LORD

FEBRUARY 28TH, 2012

10:12pm

Jonan is brought by three Mafia Looking Dudes into the Penthouse of Flaran Ordith, a New York Drug Lord.

Flaran is standing with his Right Hand Man, Jaris… Jaris is the same man that showed up at Jonan’s House with all the Black Rolls-Royce (Which was Here Whisper Moon – A Man’s Castle is? His Castle).

“This is him Flaron… This is Jonan Black…” The Blond Haired Jaris motions towards Jonan.

“You’re a very difficult man to find anything out about… Mr. Jonan Black” Flaron the Drug Lord says with a sour forced smile.

He then starts to pour himself some Whisky “Something for you?” he asks Jonan, who simply nods no.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Flaron Ordith… Businessman” he reaches out to shake Jonan’s hand, but Jonan simply continues to stare at him, and does not shake his hand.

“I see… Well… As I was saying, you were a very difficult man to find any viable information about…” Flaron says as he steps back towards the large window looking out over New York City.

“By Design” replies Jonan.

“Ha Ha” Flaron laughs and looks back at Jonan.

“So… What are you… A Shy Billionaire??” states Flaron, not really looking for a reply.

The Mafia looking dudes all kind of laugh to their selves, and Jaris seems to be getting angrier.

“Lets just say, I like having a private life… Besides I’m in “Technologies”, nothing to exciting about my Day to Day Activities to be honest with you” explains Jonan, who now seems to be scoping out the room.

“One… Two… Three… Four… All but Flaron appears to be carrying a gun” he thinks to himself.

“Why are you interfering with Our “Business”…” Flaron suddenly says as he looks back out the window.

Jonan shrugs “Bad timing I guess… Couldn’t let your men just take that Little Girl… Now could I” Jonan plainly states.

Flaron turns back towards Jonan “Sure you could” with this he sits down his drink.

“Well, there’s certainly no point in offering you money to stay out of the situation… Now is there” Flaron states with a sneer.

“Are we done?” Jonan asks without replying.

“You Tell Me… Are we done” Flaron replies.

“I have some business to attend to in New York… Leave the Little Girl and her Mother alone… And yeah… We’re done” Jonan replies.

Jonan, turns away and leaves, the Thugs just watch as Flaron gestures not to try and stop him.

Once Jonan’s gone “Stay on him” Flaron says, and Jaris and the Three Thugs leave as well.

THE AURORRA TECH BUILDING

JONAN’S BUILDING

11:50PM

Jonan is Clicking away on his 13″ Laptop in his Office, Eating a rather Large Chicken and Guacamole Burrito.

And Sipping at a Large Diet Coke.

He’s changed into his Common Working Attire, Clean White button up shirt, and Torn Levi Jeans… His hair once again Gelled up to the Max, and so dark it almost looks black.

On Jonan’s Screen is Flaron… Jonan is Researching him to great extent, but not finding much.

“Are you really going to risk your life, and all that you’ve worked for, trying to bring down the Second Biggest Drug Lord in New York City…” speaks a woman’s voice, one that Jonan instantly recognizes.

He looks up to see dressed in an all white, fairly form fitting leather outfit, his ex girlfriend Sasha.

“Whose The First Biggest Drug Lord in New York City?” Jonan replies, and then goes back to typing.

“Easy Boy… That is really the Wrong Question” Sasha replies, and then spins another chair backwards, and sits in it uncomfortably close to Jonan.

He starts to type slower as her oh so familiar scent reaches his senses.

Just before Sasha speaks again, he grabs his laptop, and Metal Briefcase, and heads towards the elevator.

“What are you doing here Sasha” he questions as he walks, knowing she is surely walking right behind him… Which she is.

“Paul Called me…” she replies.

They reach the elevator and before he pushes the button…

“Did he” he replies, and then pushes the button.

“He was worried about you… And from what I can see here, he was right to be” she explains.

The elevator doors open, and he steps in… She follows.

The doors shut, Jonan hits the Bottom Floor Button, and the elevator starts to go down.

“You’re a “Technologies” Savant Jonan… Not a Superhero…” she says half smiling.

“I’ll settle for a good guy” he replies.

“You are a good guy Jonan… But Drug Lords?” she states as she hits the Elevator Stop Button.

“What, are you on Flaron’s Payroll or something?” Jonan states not quite joking, his eyes glimmering in anticipation of her answer.

“No…” she starts the elevator, kind of surprised by the question.

The doors open and she walks away “I’m on the Number One Drug Lord’s Payroll” she says.

“LIFE OF CRIME?!” he calls out after her.

“EH, IT PAYS THE BILLS” she calls back.

“YOU COULD HAVE WORKED FOR ME YOU KNOW!!” he calls out again.

She turns and faces him before she exits the building “BORING… PLUS… I LOVED YOU TOO MUCH” and then she’s gone.

DarkJade-

Episode I – In The Dark

Episode II – Flashback

Episode III – Sleep Now

Episode IV – The 27th Year

Episode V – A Man’s Castle? Is His Castle

Episode VI – Sanctuary

Episode VII – Back In Black