Love at Point Blank Range
By J.M. Schneider
Published by Scarlet Lantern Publishing
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Obligations
Chapter 2 – Wandering About
Chapter 3 – Messages Delivered
Chapter 4 – Going a Bit Overboard
Chapter 5 – First and Second Thoughts
Chapter 6 – A Lack of Preparation
Chapter 7 – Awakenings
Chapter 8 – A Surprise Houseguest
Chapter 9 – Love Shack?
Chapter 10 – Flight and Fight
Chapter 11 – Perdition Roused
Chapter 12 – Family Matters
Chapter 13 – Couples Therapy
Chapter 14 – The Best Laid Plans
Chapter 15 – That Sinking Feeling
Chapter 16 – Riding the Wave
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Chapter 1
Obligations
He was sweating in the windbreaker and gloves, but Carson Fischer wore them for reasons other than the weather. The same was true of the baseball cap pulled down over his face and ears. With his brisk walk, he appeared to be nothing more than another low-life on his way to do something he probably shouldn’t. Exactly as he planned.
What the fuck am I doing? He had only one unsatisfactory answer to the simple question – the short, mysterious call the previous day was the only reason he would ever be here, walking through this dark neighborhood replete with sketchy, large men standing on porch stoops, laughing loudly and swigging from bottles in bags. Being on foot in this area was a risk, but a calculated one that Carson knew he had to take. Unwilling to reveal any more about himself to his “friends” than he already had, he’d parked his car about 10 blocks away. His shitty Taurus was unlikely to garner much attention from petty criminals looking for an easy mark.
He made yet another turn at the corner, one of the dozen or so “counter-surveillance maneuvers” he’d made since parking, and glanced to see if anyone was following. Being recognized now, by anyone, was not acceptable, and would remain so until he could escape for good. Not knowing when that might be frustrated him. At times he doubted he would ever regain his freedom.
Reaching his destination, he made sure to keep his chin pressed against his chest as he stepped into the parking garage. Security cameras were strategically placed to capture anyone who entered, and Carson considered this a poor time to have his portrait taken. He climbed the stairs quickly, experiencing a little fatigue, just enough to remind him of the 15 extra pounds around his waist and the excuses he’d made to himself to justify abandoning his fitness regimen, especially over the past six months or so. When he reached the third parking level, he scanned the area from an unobtrusive spot while catching his breath. Choosing a shadowy area near one of the pillars, he leaned against it and waited, glancing at his watch. He always gave himself some extra time in case he had a problem.
The butterflies started churning then, just like they always did. He reached across his body to touch his chest just below his armpit, relieved to feel the handle of his Smith & Wesson .45-caliber pistol. To have and not need was always better than to need and not have, especially with guns, but the knowledge that it was there forced at least a few of the insects to settle down.
Finally, he heard the car coming up the ramp. It was always the same car, an older Cadillac, slightly elongated to accommodate the rear bench seats that faced each other. Carson tracked the headlights and stepped forward as it approached. The back door was already opening as it came to a halt, and he climbed in.
It was the regular gang. Lefty Mike drove. Carson had never seen his face, as the man never looked into the back seat. All he saw were massive shoulders, black hair, and a very thick neck.
The gentleman sitting to Carson’s right was Chops Rizzo, the leader of this group. He was older, probably in his 50’s, but one look at him indicated he’d been quite formidable in his younger days, and still wouldn’t hesitate to smack the shit out of anyone who irritated him. He reminded Carson of the senior chiefs he had known during his early years in the Navy as a Seaman First.
Even though he had no desire to mess with Lefty or Chops, the third member of the entourage affected him at a different level. Peetey Hooks sat facing Carson, his evil glare projecting a physical force towards anyone unlucky enough to be the object of his attention. He was the bodyguard, charged with protecting Chops. His fists were always clenched, ready for violence. Against whom, Carson didn’t know and didn’t care. The guy was a caged animal ready to apply deadly force to any man foolish enough to raise his voice or even look funny at Chops. Early on, Carson had asked Chops what “Hooks” referred to. Chops told him to think of how large cuts of meat were stored in a freezer, conjuring enough gory scenarios to stifle any further questions.
He knew these weren’t their real names, of course, which was just fine with him. The less he knew about them, the less threatened they would feel, and that was exactly how he wanted things. That’s right. There’s no reason to fear me. I’m nothing.
The car started moving back down the winding ramp as soon as Carson pulled the door closed behind him. “Hey,” Chops said by way of greeting. Although his voice was rough and raspy,
