Ungoverned: A Thriller and Suspense Novel (Ungoverned Series Book 1)

by Shawn Raiford

  Then I heard it.

  Couldn’t see it yet, but it had to be Archie. Not far down the road, and heading my way.

  As I opened the driver’s door of Eddy’s car, I was sad to see he was still alive. He looked bad, his head had a deep gash, and blood covered more than half of his face. I dragged him out of the car, and dropped him ten feet away. His head hit the cement hard, doubting he could be made more stupid by the impact.

  Walking back to his souped-up car, I got in behind the wheel as a black Mercedes drove up, tires screeching.

  Shifting it back to Park, I was about to turn the key, when someone grabbed me, and pulled me out.

  It was Eddy. I should’ve put a bullet in his head to make sure he wouldn’t wake up. He wasn’t really much of a fighter, but you give him a pistol and he became a definite threat. He wasn’t much bigger than me, which put him at a disadvantage.

  We danced for a few seconds until I let him throw me to the ground. He tried to kick me, but I swung my right leg around first, my steel-toe boot connecting with his left knee.

  Eddy went down fast.

  I stood up, and unzipped my jacket.

  Archie got out of the car slowly. Sections of his face were encrusted with dark patches, and his left eye was beginning to swell.

  Eddy held his knee, grimacing like he was having a bad bowel movement. “Ouch! Fuck Rose! That hurt!”

  “Stop being such a pussy!” I told him, staring at Archie.

  Trench Coat and Louie spilled out of the car.

  He stared back at me for a couple of moments. He shook his head, and pointed at me. “Grab her!”

  Trench Coat came at me.

  There was no time to check for witnesses, I reached inside my jacket, and grabbed the handle of my pistol, pulling it out I aimed at center mass. It took me less than two-seconds to shoot him three times in the chest.

  Trench Coat fell.

  One of four dead.

  “No! Frank!” Louie glowered at me. “Frank is my cousin, you fucking bitch!” He came at me screaming, shot him in the face. His mass stopped in front of me.

  Two of four dead.

  Then someone tackled me from behind. It was him; Eddy had his slimy hands on me I wriggled and writhed in his arms. We fell to the street, hard. I landed on my knees, my pistol skidded away, my body rolled over my tackler.

  We came to a stop. My body hurt all over.

  He stood crookedly on one leg, but able to put a little weight on the knee I kicked.

  “Hi Rose,” he said with a nasal creepiness.

  I liked Eddy as much as I liked having an infected hemorrhoid poked with a dirty needle.

  “Be careful Eddy, Lukas wants her alive,” Archie said as walking towards me. Now, there were two left, and the ball was definitely in my court. However, I couldn’t take it easy. Archie probably had someone else coming to this street orgy.

  Although they weren’t supposed to kill me, orders had a funny way of being disobeyed in the heat of a gunfight.

  My head was bleeding, my body ached, and it wasn’t even lunch time yet.

  He pointed at me as if picking me out of a line-up. “Give it up Rose, you can’t take us all.” Archie approached.

  “I might not take both of you, but I swear on your life I will kill at least one of you.” I ran several different calculations through my head. Archie was capable of handling himself in a street fight, but I had him at a disadvantage. I had already kicked his ass earlier.

  “Watch out for her hands. They’re brass knuckles, and her boots have metal spikes,” Archie said, pointing at my boots.

  “Yeah, I know!” Eddy responded.

  “How about that beating I put on you, Archie?” I reminded him.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m still alive.”

  My head tilted to the side, and I winced. “Probably not for long.”

  Archie and Eddy circled me like hungry wolves.

  They knew about my gloves and boot spikes, but not the knife I had stashed in a pocket on the thigh of my pants.

  Eddy came at me first.

  He came from behind and managed to grab me in a bear hug. Archie came at me from the front. I raised my leg, but he didn’t see my steel-toed boot. It connected with his jaw, and his eyes rolled up into his head, as he fell down.

  Feeling Eddy’s breath on my right ear, I shuddered slightly. Eddy disgusted me.

  Moving quickly, I kicked straight up, my leg straight, my boot coming at my head, brushing against my ear. I’m limber, comes in handy at times like this and when I’m trying to impress a lover. I did the splits standing up.

  The steel-toe part of my boot connected with Eddy’s nose, breaking it. He let me go, and took several steps back. Then he fell to his knees.

  “What’s wrong, Eddy? I thought you liked me?” I turned to face Archie. Before I got set for his attack, the bastard cold cocked me on the side of the head.

  I didn’t go down, but it hurt.

  I had overestimated how hard I actually hit Archie in the chin a moment ago with my steel-toed boot. Apparently, it didn’t phase him like I thought.

  I thought about running away from these two, but I doubted my running speed at the moment. With my head like it was, they would catch me. Besides, why run when Archie’s car was available. Curb side service was hard to beat.

  Archie turned his head, and spit out blood.

  Touched the side of my head and my hand came back red. My left hand twitched. Walking towards him, he really pissed me off now. They made me bleed.

  He smiled.

  I reached down to my thigh and opened a pocket, pulled out a knife.

  “Aw come on Rose, that ain’t fair,” he said sourly.

  “Oh, and getting all these pussies to help you bring me in is fair?” I stopped a few feet from him.

  He shrugged. “I do what I need to do.”

  A picture of his family popped into my head. “It’s a shame that you won’t see your boys grow up Archie.”

  “Is that your way of telling me that you’re gonna kill me Rose?”

  “Your wife is attractive, I’m sure she will find another man with a washboard stomach and a bigger dick, without any trouble. Don’t worry, she’ll find a good daddy for your boys.”

  “Fuck you Rose, you know I don’t have a choice. This is all on you,” he said.

  The knife, now in my right hand.

  He lunged.

  I side stepped him. The problem with this situation was that I kind of liked Archie. He and I had shared many jokes over the years, and had drinks with Lukas. “Okay, Archie, you let me leave in your car right now and you and your family are gone within twenty-four hours, I won’t come after you. You got my word.”

  He sighed, appearing to think about it for a moment.

  “Your boys need their father.”

  Archie shook his head. “I can’t, Rose!”

  Moving in for the kill, I turned the knife around in my hand, the tip pointing up to my arm pit.

  Jabbing a few times with my left fist, I only hit his arms.

  He grimaced and came at me as large men do, knowing his size would work for him. But the bigger they are the less they can depend on know-how at times like this, which meant they fell harder.

  I switched the knife to my left hand as he swung wildly.

  Moved to my left, I ducked his heavy right hook. pivoting on my left foot, I sent my knife-filled fist. The tip of my blade cut through his jacket and shirt, slicing through skin and fat.

  Stood up straight and pirouetted like a ballerina, and faced him.

  He stopped, but didn’t realize I got him.

  He knelt as if he had no other choice. Archie reached down, his entire hand covered in blood. “Shit, you got me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Rose, please tell my boys that I love them, okay?” He held the wound with both hands.

  Walking over to him, I popped him upside the head. “I’m not going to say shit to your boys. I gave you two c
hances to walk away, now you’re dead. If they don’t know that you love them Archie, then you failed them.”

  He blinked at me.

  “Like you failed Lukas.” I stepped forward, and slamming my knife’s blade down on his head. I released the knife.

  His mouth agape, Archie’s eyes rolled up into his head. A couple of nondescript sounds escaped his mouth just before he fell, face first, to the street.

  Three of four dead.

  Wished I had some roses to leave with these bodies. I surveyed the immediate area around me for the last one, but Eddy was gone. I turned, headed down the road, limping with a hand covering his nose. I let him go, because I hurt too much to give chase.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Spending Time In A Mental Clinic

  Chloe had a history of violence and vindictive behavior.

  Most of the incidences were triggered by attacks either to herself or to the few people she cared for.

  At fourteen, Chloe, after spending time in a mental clinic ended up with another Foster family. She threw gasoline on her Foster father, Earl Greenwald, and lit him on fire after he administered a vicious beating to her Foster mother, Nadine Greenwald, causing her brain damage.

  As a result of the incident, her Foster father almost died. Although she was judged not guilty. Her actions, however extreme, were deemed to be in self-defense, because he attacked her Foster mother. Chloe was declared a danger to herself, and others, and was sent to a mental clinic for children.

  Henry thought of his sister as he walked with Mitch towards the apartment. No one knew him like she did. He had always looked up to her. They had a special bond. Not like the average brother-sister bond. Something stronger. A brother-sister-going-through-hell-and-surviving kind of bond.

  He knew who Chloe was, but Henry didn’t care. Blood was thicker than the law. Chloe taught him that, and Mama had taught it to Chloe.

  They got drunk when he joined the force, and she made a drunken confession: “Henry, I have killed men, bad men, and I didn’t feel bad for doing it. Not even once.”

  He figured she was into illegal activities. After talking about it for hours that night they came to an agreement. The only thing that mattered was blood.

  Chloe promised him that she would never hurt an innocent intentionally, never. That helped put his conscience at ease.

  Mitch and Henry walked up the stairs to the second level of the two-story apartments. A young girl played with a couple of boys, maybe her brothers.

  They spewed innocence, and Henry wished he could protect them until they became adults. “Would it hurt them to clean this place up?” He spotted a broken lawn chair, a couple of toys, and an old rusty bicycle with a missing front rim, in the courtyard.

  Mitch shrugged.

  They arrived at the door and Mitch knocked.

  The door opened, a Hispanic woman stood there. Her eyes were big, and she wore no makeup. A natural beauty existed under a layer of tiredness. “Yes?”

  “Teresa Ramirez?”

  “Yes, who’s asking?”

  Henry pulled his badge and held it up. “I’m Police Officer Creed, and this is my partner Police Officer Mason. We are both Investigators with HPD. May we come in to speak to you about something of a sensitive nature?”

  She stepped aside, waving and nodding. “Yes, come in.”

  They entered, and Henry noticed an average dark brown couch, not dirty, but didn’t look clean. A chair, a lighter brown than the couch, obviously not its mate, but close enough, sat next to it. Photos covered a wall several feet away in the dining area.

  He breathed in deeply, smelling deliciousness in the air. A kind of smell, which made men stay with their wives even if they wanted a divorce.

  Mrs. Ramirez waved them towards the couch. “Please have a seat.”

  He and Mitch sat down together.

  Henry in the chair, and Mitch on the other end of the couch.

  The empty space in between him and Mitch hopefully drew Mrs. Ramirez to sit there. Men and women both needed a shoulder to cry on when they learned of the death of a loved one, especially the death of a child.

  Henry didn’t like this part of his job, death notification of a child. He would rather have a root canal from a drunk dentist.

  “I made some coffee, you guys want a cup?” she asked.

  They accepted, Teresa joined them in the living room. She brought in a dining chair to sit in.

  Mitch leaned forward, forearms rested on his knees. “Ma’am—”

  “Please, call me Teresa.”

  He continued. “Teresa, I am sorry to be the one to tell you but we have found your daughter, Samantha, she’s dead. We found her body early this morning.”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean, Samantha’s dead?”

  “I’m sorry, we found your daughter, the Medical Examiner identified her.”

  She didn’t react as they had expected.

  He and Mitch both knew that a particular reaction to the death of one’s child, was evidence of nothing in of itself. Everyone reacted differently to death.

  For a moment, she sat still, eyes aimed at the floor. Then she leaned back in her chair holding her face.

  Henry held his phone, a picture of Samantha’s little face on the screen. “Just to verify, is this your daughter?”

  She studied the phone’s screen, and started crying. “Yes, that’s my Samantha,” she said. “Where did you find her? What happened?”

  He didn’t want to tell this mother that her daughter had been thrown away like yesterday’s trash. “We found her next to a building, and we’re not sure about the cause of death yet, ma’am.”

  Teresa got up and walked over to the wall of photos. They followed her.

  Many young, smiling faces covered the wall. He inspected pictures of three sweet, beautiful children.

  He liked a picture of a boy, who Henry assumed to be Teresa’s son. The boy wore a humongous smile, holding a model airplane with both hands.

  Next to it, a picture Samantha. She appeared to be younger, maybe a couple of years than today. She stood next to a younger girl, probably her younger sister. Both were dressed up and holding wands. They appeared happy.

  Samantha’s pretty face peppered most of the photos. The brother and sister not so much.

  Mitch turned to Teresa. “You have other children, ma’am?”

  “Yes, they’re with CPS. At the time Samantha went missing, I had a problem with drugs. I called the cops, and they came and took a lot of notes and pictures. That was a while ago, and they never found her. One cop even told me I needed move on, she was probably taken and would never come home.”

  Henry wanted the name of that cop. Cops should never say anything like that to a grieving mother. There was always hope.

  “I understood what he was saying, but still had two other children to worry about.”

  Henry and Mitch stayed quiet.

  “I decided to get clean, but before I could, CPS came and got them. I guessed one of the cops had ratted me out. Probably noticed I was a junkie.”

  Mitch nodded. “Hey, it’s a good thing that you got yourself clean, Teresa. Your children really need their mother.”

  She smiled. “Now, I have a good job. I’m able to pay rent and buy food with no problem. I keep my apartment clean. This is a welcoming and nice environment for my kids.”

  Mitch smiled at her, and nodded.

  “I meet with CPS next week to show them my progress. I hope to have them back soon. All I want to do is be a mom again.”

  “Are you married?” Mitch asked.

  “Yes, kind of.” Her eyes dropped down to the floor again. “My husband, all three of my children’s father, is still in prison.”

  “There is a man who came up in our investigation Teresa, do you know a man named Arthur Murphy?” Mitch held up his phone. He took a pic of Art’s driver’s license earlier.

  Teresa studied the phone’s screen again. “You’re saying he’s the one who killed
my Samantha?”

  “No ma’am, at this point we don’t have any suspects. It is early in our investigation and his name came up that’s all I can say at this time. Do you know him?”

  “No, sorry.” She handed Mitch the phone.

  Henry stared at the photos on the wall again. There was a picture of Samantha with her two siblings with what looked like barbecue sauce on their smiling faces. It made him grin.

  He turned to her. “Did you take these”

  She smiled. “Yes, I like photography.”

  Henry pointed at a photo of Samantha sitting on a bicycle. “You have a great eye Teresa, did you ever work professionally as a photographer?”

  “No, I just like taking pictures.”

  “It’s great that you’re trying to get your life back together, I know it can be hard.”

  Mitch stepped forward, notepad in hand. “Are you sure Teresa, you don’t know or ever heard of Arthur Murphy?”

  Teresa shrugged. “I’m sure, I’ve never met him before. I remember faces.”

  A picture of Samantha with another white male drew his attention. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, familiar.

  He reached up and took the photo off the wall, and brought it within a couple of inches of his nose. In the picture, the man wore a red Polo shirt and an expensive watch.

  The white man stood next to Samantha, with his arm around her. There was a scar on his face. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, and then his hand trembled.

  His eyes bulged, and time slowed. Catapulted back in time when Henry was a little boy. Late at night, the screeching door woke him. He blinked, sleepy. A light came on, the light on the nightstand next to his bed. He blinked again and saw him, Uncle.

  Henry didn’t like thinking about that time in his life. He walked over to the couch and sat down. A drop of sweat trailed the length of his eyebrow, then down the side of his face.

  “What’s up, partner?”

  Henry didn’t respond.

  Mitch placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, partner what’s going on?”

  He got out his phone and handed it to Mitch. “Call Chloe now!”