Sunday, April 12, 2015

American Insurgency Chapter 3 .

Hard Way to Say Hello.
Friday June 7
11:30 PM
During the short drive to the Odessa nightclub, Jake thought about what he was going to say to the gang leader. He wanted them to realize he was as a dangerous man who wouldn't hesitate to shoot any Serbian thugs who threatened his father or the deli. Jake parked the car around the corner from the club and hid behind a large Maple tree, forty yards from the rear entrance. He observed a few men go in and out of the door in a little over an hour. A glance at his watch showed 12:30 AM. Time to say hello to the bastard. He stepped out from cover and strode to the club.
A tall, dark-haired man with high Slavic cheekbones opened the door after Jake pounded on it. "Nightclub is closed," the man said with a heavy accent. "What are you doing here?"
"I want to see your boss, Goran Markovich." Jake spoke with a flat, hard voice.
"You have appointment with him?" The man narrowed his eyes.
"No, but I want to talk with him anyway."
"Go away." The tall Serbian snarled and pushed a large hand at Jake's face.
Jake ducked under the man's outstretched arm and drove a fist into his stomach, causing him to double over. Jake slammed the palm of his hand into the back of the Serbian's neck. The man slumped, stunned but not unconscious. Jake grabbed his shirt collar before he hit the floor. Holding the Serbian up with his right hand, he frog-marched him into a large open area with an office in the corner.
As Jake pushed him toward the middle of the middle of the room, a short, stocky man came out of the office. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted and ran toward Jake

Friday, March 20, 2015

American Insurgency Chapter 2.

Bad For Business.

Friday June 7.
3 PM
"Where are the customers, pop?" Jake was concerned that only four customers had come into the deli all morning.
"I don't understand," Mickey said. "I thought half the neighborhood would come in wanting to find out what happened yesterday."
"People don't glance at the store as they pass by." He wondered how his dad would react if no one came an all day.
"So I noticed. One lousy day I can afford, maybe two. No customers for a week would break me. People in the neighborhood are more afraid than I thought they'd be. They're waiting for the Serbians next move. No one wants to be here if the gangsters make an example of you. business may pick up after five when the people come home from work."
"I hope you're right." His dad's dour expression suggested he didn't expect anything to be different from for the rest of the day.
"I'm going to eat lunch at the Chinese," Jake said. "Call me if anyone looking like a gangster approaches the deli. He smiled as he turned around and walked towards the door.
"What am I supposed to do if one of them comes into the store while you're eating?"
"Grab the baseball bat and hit him when he enters."
"Not funny!" Mickey snapped.
"If you hit him hard enough, he won't be laughing." Jake closed the door and began walking to the Sign of the Dragon Restaurant. He remembered eating many good meals at the area's best restaurant. The trick was knowing what to order. Most of the food was good, not great. However, people who lived in the area and other Chinese knew about the special delicious dishes not on the menu.
Jake paused for a moment, looking up and down Brighton Beach Avenue. Though new owners had renovated most of the stores, and Russian names had replaced many of the English and Jewish ones, the street looked much the same as when his grandfather moved here from Romania seventy-five years ago. He had seen pre-and post-second world war pictures of people walking along the sidewalk. Men no longer wore long pants, women's shorts were shorter and tighter, and T-shirts had replaced ones with collars.  However, the elevated subway with its huge steel supports would always cast its shadows on the Avenue below.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

American Insurgency Chapter 1.

 The Customer isn't always right.          
Thursday, June 6.
3 PM
"Almost as bad as Iraq," Jake muttered after glancing at the thermometer on the old Coca-Cola sign, which registered 94°.
            As he placed a carton filled with jars of kosher pickles on a high shelf, perspiration ran down his face and soaked his "U.S. Army" T-shirt. Jake grabbed a bottle of water and emptied the remaining contents. Jake smiled as he remembered bellowing, "Stay hydrated, stay hydrated," to the new men in the company. His muscles ached, but a hot shower would ease most of the pain. Lifting weights when not on duty in Iraq and Afghanistan and climbing mountains on patrol, had kept him in peak condition.
            He thought about his dad's concern, late last night, when he talked about Serbian gangsters who had become the crime lords of the neighborhood. The Serbians had seriously injured one of his dad's friends when he spoke out against them. Dealing with another gang was the last thing Jake wanted to do when he came home from the Army.
          Yesterday, he had torn out the old, shabby storage compartments, which were on the verge of falling apart. Jake had just finished installing a series of reinforced steel shelving units added several cubic feet of accessible storage space. Mickey prided himself on being tough and strong, but at age sixty-five, his knees and back ached from decades of lifting heavy cartons.
Loud noises coming from the front of the deli caught his attention. He stepped into the back doorway and saw a short gangster built like a middle linebacker, holding the front door open as several customers raced by him.
"Out, out," the man shouted, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.
His dad stood behind the counter, gesturing at a tall, dark-haired man, several inches over six feet tall. The man had a prominent nose, high cheekbones, and olive-hued skin color. They both appeared to be Serbian gangsters his dad had described. Jake's muscles tensed at the sight of the men threatening his dad. Mickey reached for the baseball bat under the front counter. Even if he grabbed the bat, the gangster would take it out of his hands and beat him unconscious.
"I'll get you whatever you want," Jake said loudly, showing his empty hands as he approached the two gangsters... (CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING)

Monday, December 8, 2014

Vampire fights werewolves in Dark Journeys Anthology

Excerpt from a short story in the anthology Dark Journeys.
"Two dark shapes appeared and converged on Monique.
Driving closer revealed the details of the brown-haired werewolves. When the closest one lunged at her, she bent her knees and tossed the beast over her head into the brick wall. The other werewolf wrapped its paw-like hands around her face, trying to gouge her eyes out. She kicked its right knee and the beast howled and crumpled to the ground. Monique grasped the werewolf’s head, holding it still as she sank her fangs into its neck."

In Dark Journeys, short stories and dark poems describe perilous paths taken by mortals, vampires, and other creatures of the night. . Dark poems tell of the painful and sometimes fatal relationships between mortals and vampires. If this sounds interesting, and I hope it does, please follow the link and buy the anthology for only $.99.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Undead Embrace a dark poem of vampire love by Neil Benson

Undead Embrace -a dark poem from a mortal to a vampire lover.

Whenever I run, 
 wherever I hide,
your dark presence finds me.
It fills me with fear.
It fills me with joy.
I try to resist you,
but my will always fails me.
I am drawn back to you,
across distance and time.
Memories of pleasures,
no mortal could imagine.
Feelings of pain,
no mortal could endure.
My resistance is fading,
closer I come.
Your dark Castle before me,
where you've lived for all time.
I go to your chamber
to submit to your will.
Your perfect face
hides a goddess of death.
Pale white lips and dark blue eyes
draw me to your netherworld.
Your caress my body
until I'm aflame.
Closer you come,
and I show you my neck.
Ecstasy overwhelms me,
with the sharpest of pain. 

  In Dark Journeys, short stories and dark poems describe perilous paths taken by mortals, vampires, and other creatures of the night. Some survive, others don't. Why not join them on their journey through the gates of hell, so to speak.