Guns 'n Money: Episode 3

By Ty Johnston

Jackie Cruise was just a small-time hood until a mob boss tried to take him out. Now Jackie is out for revenge, big time. Leaving blood and bodies behind him throughout Chisel City, Jackie is on the hunt for the man who wanted him dead. But a professional killer has been brought in, and Jackie might be facing more than he can handle alone.

Part 3 of 5

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Johnston
• Release date: Aug 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310315350

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

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Guns ’n Money III

by Ty Johnston

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1: I Shot the Sheriff

Riding and driving. Driving and riding. Steering and steering.

It’s what I do all through the night. Helmet on my head, my little motorbike takes me around curves and up and down hills on the hiking paths of the woods in the northern part of the state. I’m not exactly on the run, but I’m biding my time, giving myself distance. It’s the first chance I’ve had to really think about my situation.

My best friend gunned down, my only two other pals in hiding, and all because a mobster named Frankie Sardona wants me dead. I don’t even know why he wants me dead. I pop out of prison for the first time in five years, and a guy takes some shots at me. Turns out the guy gunning for me was Leon, Sardona’s kid. None of it makes sense. Before all this mess happened, I had no enemies. I had known Sardona a little from the old days, but we’d never gone at one another. Why he wanted me dead was anybody’s guess.

Now Leon was dead, or at least I think he’s dead after he took a dive off a cliff into some rapids. I guess I didn’t give him much choice. Up in the mountains at a cabin, I’d just wasted a whole team of Sardona goons. Leon, dressed in his familiar black hoodie, must have figured he was next, so he jumped instead of letting me shoot him. Best move he could have made, actually, because yes, indeed, I would have put a bullet through his skull after he had killed my best pal, Tony Olivetti.

All that was hours ago. Since, I’ve been riding and driving and steering. Always heading south. Closer to the city. I could have taken a car from the cabin, there were several to choose from, but I wanted to vanish for a while. Let Sardona wonder just where I’m at. He’d never guess I took off into the woods, me being a city boy and all.

The cabin had belonged to the Carcinni clan in the old days, and I was familiar with it and its locale. I knew the cabin was on the edge of a state park where there were hiking trails all over the place. Cruising along at night, I have the trails to myself. I don’t go too fast, driving at night in the woods not being the safest bet, after all, and because I want the time to think.

It dawns on me, I have been going about this all the wrong way. Sardona wants me dead for some reason, and I’ve been fighting back on a personal level, taking out his goons whenever the opportunity presented itself. In the mix, I’ve managed to bring trouble on my friends and to create a small war between Sardona and the Carcinni clan, the folks I work for. Sardona used to be one of their boys, but then he went out on his own, vying to create his own clan within the larger Family. No, I’ve gone about this the wrong way. I’ve been doing all the work myself, taking out thugs by my own hand. If I ever want to get anywhere, if I ever want to get Sardona off my back, I’ve got to go about this a different way.

It’s time to hit him where it hurts most, his pocket book. I either have to make myself so powerful that Sardona would never dare touch me, or I have to take him out myself. So far, each time I’ve tried to take him out, he’s not been where I thought he was supposed to be. Slippery little fucker. It’s time to change my game, to up the ante, to put Sardona’s balls in a vice.

Morning comes and I realize I’m tired and hungry. I catch a few winks on a picnic table at a camp site, then I motor on down near a small town. I’m still hours away from Chisel City, but I’m closer than I would be if I hadn’t ridden all night.

Ditching my bike in a gulley behind an abandoned gas station, I carry my helmet along with me. You never know when a helmet might come in handy, especially when people are looking for you. And, of course, I take my trusty gym bag full of guns.

I’m looking a little worn, I’m sure, but that doesn’t stop the kid behind the counter of the local burger joint from taking my money as I load up on food, the first meal I’ve head in nearly a day.

Then I need to find another ride. Can’t take the motorbike into the city, after all.

Glancing around, I spot several promising vehicles parked along the little town’s streets. No cops in sight, I