New from Carlo’s story – Perch

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Here is a new segment in Carlo’s story. I drew inspiration for this installment from Terri G Long’s BlogFlashDaily prompts. I hope you enjoy!

My first instinct was isolation. After a hit as big as this one, anonymity was essential to survival. I found a perch, as I always do, and continuously scanned the blacktop below for any sign of pursuit. My lookout was an abandoned terminal, the vast windows of its bridge overlooked the runways and airplanes waiting for takeoff. The terminal was dark and blocked off by security, which wasn’t a problem for me, obviously, but would prove inconvenient for any pursuers. I could also see the travelers crossing the fully-functioning bridge in the terminal across from mine. Though without knowing what to look for, they would never spot me. The perfect perch.

My hands twitched in their barrenness. They were incomplete without my rifle. I felt vulnerable without it and the comfort the scope brought to my ever scanning eyes. I would have make do watching the old-fashioned way.

My plane from DC to New York was already boarding. The last thing I needed while being hunted by Detective Foster was to be confined to a cramped plane with no easy exit while people were pouring in.  No, I would stay hidden and board at the last possible moment.

Movement on the bridge parallel to mine caught my eye. Foster. He was here quicker than anticipated. Frantic, he zig-zagged in and out of passengers.

I stood stone still. Waiting. Barely breathing.

Foster stopped mid-stride.

“What are you doing, Foster?” I said in a whisper.

He turned toward the window with his hands cupping his eyes to better his vision and stared across the way, directly at where I was perched. We each held our gazes for a second, like counterparts on opposing fence-lines. Even from this distance, I could register the realization on his face.

My feet took off before my conscious mind decided to run, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him do the same, direct mirrors of each other.

I was out the door in five strides and was deposited into a stream of passengers. Security was alarmed at the sudden outburst, but I was lost in the crowd before they could pursue. I dodged businessmen on cellphones, families on vacation, suitcases, children, and the little motorized carts. People jumped out of the way as I passed, some yelled profanities, while others just stood gawking. This game of dodge-the-crowd was taking much longer than I could afford.

“Carlo!” Foster shouted from behind. He was gaining on me, but my gate was just ahead. They were already starting to close the ramp. I fished my boarding pass from my pocket while I ran.

“Hold the door!” I yelled as I neared the gate.

The attendant scanned my pass and I slipped through, sneaking a glance behind me as it closed. Detective Foster’s face filled my view before the doors sealed me inside.

I could hear his muffled voice on the other side of the closed door.“I’m a detective and that’s my suspect. Let me pass.”

No doubt he flashed them his shiny badge.

“I’m sorry sir…” was all I needed to hear of the attendant’s response. Foster was a little too late, once again.

Make Up Mondays, Edition 2 – Forgotten

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For this week’s Make Up Monday, I’m posting an idea I’ve been toying with for the prologue of my WIP about an assassin named Carlo Cappelletti who first made his debut in my novel, No Exit. Some of you may also have read about him in previous blog posts. So what I came up with just so happened to fit in with one of the Five Sentence Fiction challenges – Forgotten.

Assassins are a tricky lot.

They don’t typically stay in one place for long, and they are never caught or confined unless that is exactly where they want to be.

They can recall every hit and every wrong done to them.

Nothing is forgotten, nothing is forgiven.

And nothing is out of their control.

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Five Sentence Fiction – Breakfast

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Carlo pulled in a long gulp of his black Italian coffee and feigned interest in the newspaper that hid his face from view—all but his eyes, which were simultaneously aware of the cafe’s entrance and his mark seated two tables away.

His person of interest had ordered his usual, a breakfast blend coffee and toasted bagel, but something was wrong.

Carlo had been doing this long enough to know when he’d been made.

The man abruptly rose from his seat, coffee still steaming and bagel untouched, and nearly tripped in his haste to reach the exit.

If Carlo was going to make his move, it had better be now… time for breakfast.

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This is my entry into this week’s Five Sentence Fiction challenge over at lilliemcferrin.com

Five Sentence Fiction-Vindictive

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“Do your worst, you have no power over me,” Dathan said after taking a gun-butt to the face.

“It was always you… this vindictive nightmare was all orchestrated you.”

“Carlo, let’s be reasonable.”

“Don’t speak; your sly words will not get you off the hook this time.”

“You say I’m the vindictive one, but which of us is holding the gun?”

In honor of No Exit being released, I’ve centered this week’s Five Sentence Fiction entry around two of the book’s characters.

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Five Sentence Fiction – Offering

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“Carlo, you don’t want to do this; you don’t want to kill me,” my long-time enemy said in a serene voice.

I pressed the gun barrel harder against his temple, and said, “After what you did to Julia, you would dare to tell me what I do or don’t want?”

“I’m offering you an olive branch here — I know my word means little, and you would just as well end me, but she is indeed alive.”

I wanted to doubt him, to repay to him all the agony he was due after quenching the only light in this dark and undeserving man’s life.

Yet that little voice in my head whispered unceasingly, “What if…”

This is my entry into this week’s Five Sentence Fiction at lilliemcferrin.com

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Five Sentence Fiction – Memories

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It was time—time to say goodbye to everything she loved, to everyone she knew, to every memory she ever held dear.

She had discovered too much, and now he was hunting her—the epitome of evil wrapped in human flesh.

Her only option for survival was to run, hide, forget all she knew, and hope he would never find her.

She took a deep breath as her savior, a man known as G, hooked her up to the machine that would take her memories.

Whispering her final goodbye, she closed her eyes, and waited for the moment she could reopen them to her new life.

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I wrote this to tie into my first novel, No Exit (more details on that coming soon.) So this is a little teaser for you.

Check out the Five Sentence Fiction weekly challenge created by Lillie McFerrin.

Friday Night Write – St. Theresa

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Julia sat on the windowsill in Carlo’s bedroom, gazing at the sparkling night skyline of New York City.
Carlo was asleep in his bed, unaware that she was there, or even alive.

He had fallen for the same rouse his former boss had. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Make them think she was dead, Carlo gets free from his life as an assassin, and everyone goes their merry way.

She had help from a man known as G. G had a professional interest in Carlo, and Julia needed G’s help. She assured G that Carlo would do anything to get revenge once she was “gone,” and G would have no problem recruiting him. And so their little alliance was formed. G supplied the drugs to slow her heart, the bullet proof vest, even fake blood to make it look like she had been shot. G could not understand why she would risk them shooting her in the head instead if the chest. But that’s love; sometimes you have to risk everything for that one person who becomes your entire world.

G paid off the coroner to lie on her death certificate, and then gathered her unconscious body before they buried her casket. As long as no one dug up her empty grave, everything would be fine.

Julia had to wait until she knew it was safe before confronting Carlo. She couldn’t do it yet because her “killers” might still be watching him. But she could not bear to see him in pain any longer. She had to at least let him know she was alive. That was why she visited him the other night, and why she was here now.

But the moon was high in the sky and she would need to leave soon. The thought sunk daggers in her chest. Reluctantly rising from her post by the window, she walked to his bed and watched her love sleeping peacefully. She desperately longed to hold him again–if just for a moment.

“Soon,” she quietly promised him–and herself.

Julia turned to his nightstand and re-read the letter he had so eloquently penned.

“I love you too,” she whispered as she wrote those eternal words at the bottom of the page.

~

This is my entry into the Friday Night Write weekly challenge at Sweet Banana Ink.

The Challenge:

  • 1 Song (this week’s song is St. Theresa by Joan Osborne)
  • 60 Hours (Friday @ noon to Sunday @ midnight EST)
  • 500 Words

This is part of a series I’m writing. You can read the rest of Carlo’s Story here.

Friday Night Write – Captain of a Shipwreck

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Dear My Sweet Jules,

I don’t know if you will ever be able to read this letter. But I need to write it, regardless.

I saw you last night, here, in my house. It could have been my imagination, and maybe I was dreaming… but I don’t think so. You were here, I know it.

How it was possible, I have no idea. I watched you die with my own eyes. Murdered mercilessly, while I was helpless to stop it. I held your limp body in my arms.

I broke that day.

You are why I am even alive. Before you found me, I was lost. I was a ruthless killer with no reason to behave otherwise. But you gave me that reason—a light to a man with a pitch black heart. You saved me.

So how am I supposed to move on, if you are not alive? I would have run away with you. Would have left behind this life of misery and death, and given you everything you could ever need. I would have stood by you, comforted you, protected you.

Protect? I guess I failed you there. And for that, my love, I am so terribly sorry.

Like I said, if indeed you are gone, how could I live with myself if I did not make sure your murderer was brought to justice. All my leads have run dry. The man I thought had the answers…I don’t know if he’s telling the truth. The man I thought was responsible for your death…he seems to be innocent. I don’t know who to trust anymore. I am running out of options, and I don’t know what to do next.

But… and this is the key…

What if you are alive? What if I only thought you were dead, or your death was faked? That would be an incredible light in my, once again, dark world.

I will never stop hoping. Never stop looking.

I love you… Even death cannot change that.

So come back to me.

Yours Forever,

Carlo

~

Carlo laid his fountain pen on his mahogany desk, folded the letter, and wrote Jules’ name on the front. Propping the letter on his night stand, he turned off the lights and laid down in his half-empty bed.

Carlo slept soundly, and woke the next morning with a peace he had not felt since Jules was still with him.

On his night stand, the letter sat open with his fountain pen laying next to it.

At the bottom of the page, the words “I love you too,” were written in Jules’ perfect handwriting.

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This is my entry into the Friday Night Write weekly challenge at Sweet Banana Ink.

The Challenge:

  • 1 Song (this week’s song is Captain of a Shipwreck by Neil Diamond)
  • 60 Hours (Friday @ noon to Sunday @ midnight EST)
  • 500 Words

This is part of a series I’m writing. You can read the rest of Carlo’s Story here.

Five Sentence Fiction – Scarlet

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Carlo crept into the dark bedroom of his New York apartment, lit only by the glow of the moon coming through the open window.

Someone was there—he could feel their presence, thick and palpable.

He saw her scarlet lips first, then the rest of her silhouette stepped into the moonlight.

“I love you, Carlo,” Jules said, “sleep now…”

Carlo awoke the next morning alone, accompanied solely by his unrelenting question: Was it a dream, or could she really be alive?

~

Check out the Five Sentence Fiction weekly challenge created by Lillie McFerrin.

This is part of a series, you can read the rest of Carlo’s story here.

Friday Night Write – I Ain’t Superstitious

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Carlo refused to cry. The love of his life was dead and he would not mourn until her killer was brought to justice. He clenched his fists and rose from his knelt position over Jules’ grave.

“Carlo Capelletti, may I have a moment of your time?” A stranger said.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No, but I have a proposition for you.” The man was in his late forties; aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.

“I don’t have time for this.” Carlo swore in Italian, his native language, as he did often. Who did this guy this guy think he was talking to? Obviously Carlo’s bulky, muscular appearance, slick black hair, and sharp jaw line didn’t intimidate him as it did every other sane human being.

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. It’s about Julia.”

“She’s dead, or could you not tell by the grave?” Carlo pointed to the fresh mound of dirt.

The man nodded once as if Carlo’s words were not news.

“If you’re interested in what I have to say, come to this address tomorrow night.”

The man handed Carlo a scrap of paper with messy handwriting then started to walk away.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“You may call me G.”

He had no intentions of going. G—what kind of name was that anyway?

Carlo was not a man given to curiosity, but something about the whole situation wouldn’t let him walk away. He had to know if the guy was legit or just full of it. He had to know what he knew.

So Carlo went to the address, but not without certain precautions: a pistol on his hip, a knife in his boot, and a sniper rifle hidden in his black Buick.

Rottweilers barked viciously as he approached the enormous house. G seemed like the type who took crap from no one. The house was surrounded by security cameras, fences, and guards who escorted him across the premises. What did the man do that required all this?

A knotted firmly planted itself in Carlo’s stomach. He also wasn’t a man given to superstitions. But something didn’t sit well with him, and somehow he knew that things would end badly for him. But still, he had to know.

Once inside, Carlo was instructed to wait in the “living room” which was twice the size of any normal one.

A moment later, G emerged and sat down.

“I’ll get right to the point Mr. Cappelletti. I would like you to come work for me. I’m in need of a certain set of… skills.”

“You’re offering me a job?”

“Do you even know who was actually behind Julia’s murder? The man at the top?”

The question caught Carlo off guard. Something that didn’t happen often. There was no need to answer; G knew he had no idea.

“The fact is, I do know who is responsible, and I can put you in a prime position to take him out.”

~

This is my entry into the Friday Night Write weekly challenge at Sweet Banana Ink.

The Challenge:

  • 1 Song (this week’s song was I Ain’t Superstitious by Jeff Beck)
  • 48 Hours (Friday @ 5pm to Sunday @ 5pm pacific)
  • 500 Words

I wrote about this character last week, but this story line was beckoning me to write more. You can read the rest of Carlo’s story here.