I walk back to my stool and sit down, smiling. “No, I guess not.”
“Other than that, I’ve got a few jobs which you can look at when you’re ready to get back to it.”
“Maybe in a few days. Listen, has there been any…” I stop mid-sentence. “Never mind.”
“Any sign of Clara?” he offers.
I sigh. “Yeah… Anything at all?”
“Nothing. But she’ll forever be on our own little Most Wanted list.”
“You better believe it.”
The music starts playing in the background — the first of my song choices. I figured we’d start off with something mellow.
“Is that Carry On, Wayward Son by Kansas I can hear in the background?” asks Josh.
“Certainly is, my friend,” I reply, smiling.
“Then I shall leave you to enjoy what I imagine is a bottle of Bud and a shot of whiskey in peace.”
I laugh. “There’s a lot to be said for predictability.”
“Take care, Boss.”
He hangs up, leaving me to my bar stool, my drink and my music. I take another pull of my beer and signal to the barman to open me another.
Carry on, my wayward son… They’ll be peace when you are done…
Lay your weary head to rest… Don’t you cry no more…
I forget myself for a moment, enjoying the song, the beer, and the welcome return to anonymity.
I figure I’ll have another couple of drinks, head to a motel for some sleep and move on in the morning. I’m thinking of heading back to my hometown of Omaha for a day or two. It’s only half a day’s traveling from here, and it’ll be nice to see the old stomping ground again.
Another minute goes by and the song finishes, fading into my second choice. I went for something a little heavier with this one.
The opening riff of Cowboys From Hell by Pantera sounds out across the bar. One of my all-time favorites, this one. It’s real whiskey drinking music. I grab my shot and swill it around the glass for a moment before necking it.
As the barman places a fresh bottle of Bud in front of me, a man appears at my side and signals to him. He’s a tall, broad guy, with an unkempt beard and long hair. He’s wearing a red, checked shirt and jeans.
“Hey, which asshole put this crap on the jukebox?” he says to the barman.
The barman looks very uneasy, and his eyes betray him by flicking over to me. The guy turns and looks at me. I don’t bother looking at him.
“This is a nice, peaceful bar, asshole,” he says to me. “We don’t appreciate devil music blasting out disturbing folks.”
Devil music?
Okay, I’ll bite…
I turn on my stool to face him. “We?” I ask, with genuine curiosity.
He nods to the corner of the bar. I look over to his table, where I see two more guys, of similar build and wearing similar clothes, just getting out of their seats, watching us intently.
I sigh. It’s a loud, long, heavy sigh.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty-dollar bill, throwing it on the bar. The barman looks at me apologetically, but I wave my hand dismissively. It’s not his fault this guy’s an asshole.
“That's for the drinks,” I say to him as I stand up. “I might owe you some more in a minute for the damage.”
I casually square up to the guy in the red, checked shirt, tilting my head slightly as I look at him.
“Man, you’re abusing the right to be ugly, do you know that?” I say to him.
He looks confused — probably too stupid to realize he’s being insulted.
“Seriously, it’s like you fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down,” I continue.
The barman hides a small smile as he steps away.
The guy in the red, checked shirt holds his ground, still more confused than angry, it seems. His two friends from the table join him.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ve had my fun. You and your boyfriends ready?”
“Ready for what?” he replies. “Who the hell do you think you are, asshole?”
I smile, moving my head slightly to crack my neck.
What a good question.
Who am I?
I take a deep breath, stepping back into a loose fighting stance.
I smile.
My name is Adrian Hell.
Welcome to my life.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for downloading my book, and I hope you enjoyed it!
If you did, I’d really appreciate it if you could spare thirty seconds of your time to leave a review on whichever website you downloaded it from. For independent authors like me, one review makes the world of difference!
Alternatively, you can contact me directly via my website (the link is below). I love hearing from my readers — the best part of being a writer is getting to know my audience, and finding out what they think of my work.
Thank you in advance!
James P. Sumner
(http://www.jamespsumner.com/)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James P. Sumner was born in 1982, in Stockport, UK. He's married with a son, and currently lives in Bury, UK. His "other" job, besides being an author, is a full-time Account Manager for a large, international company.
An avid reader from a young age, his heart has always been in writing. In July 2013, he began work on his first novel. After some trial and error, he published his debut thriller himself on Amazon, and hasn't looked back!
He is a Top 10 Bestselling Author on Amazon, with both Hunter's Games and One Last Bullet. True Conviction is also a permanent fixture at the top of the Free charts.
When he's not writing, he's either reading (usually thrillers or comic books), cheering on his beloved Manchester City, or enjoying one of the many TV shows he follows religiously — he's a big fan of Game of Thrones and The Flash!