Bloody Eyes: 01

By Johnny Ivory

“Blessed are all those who do not believe in werewolves, vampires, killer mermaids, ghosts, little green men, and other kinds of monsters. For theirs is the public opinion.”

Dorian is a private detective specializing in supernatural cases. Cheeky and trickster, he always acted without measuring the consequences of his actions. But his irresponsible lifestyle is threatened when the police begin to investigate one of his cases. Through this confrontation, the mysteries of a world made of lies and illusions will be revealed. A world that manipulates dreams and fears, day after day, following its own rules. A place full of secrets, where everything is possible, and where the only limits are within our own minds.

To learn more about the author and his published works, visit:
www.johnnyivory.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Johnny Ivory
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370083374

Book preview

Mission 1:

BLOODY EYES

In the end, we always come back to the same point. We cannot run away from the past, just as we cannot run away from who you really are. We believe that we can always evolve ourselves, but in reality we are immutable: we only deceive ourselves with all this tale of learning and free will – a desperate attempt to take control of our own lives. There is no choice, there is no change. The closest thing is a little illusion in which we awaken latent abilities and knowledge, believing they are something new. But everything was already there, even if we have not realized it. Therefore, it is foolish to think that one can change the future, or that one can evolve. We are what we do, and we do what we are. In the end, we are only animals that move only by primitive instincts. We are just kids, wild and untamed…

Stage 1:

1.

Saint Monica highway.

Kilometer 42 (approximately 26 miles).

On a cold autumn night, a luxury coupe vehicle – red, two-door, late-model – runs to 160 km/h (44.44 mph), maneuvering and overtaking all other cars and trucks that are on the road – not that they are many, on the contrary.

In this night of crescent moon, they said on TV it might rain heavily in this region – but the sky, completely starry and cloudless, insists otherwise.

No one can see who is driving the red sports car because all its windows, including the windshield, are covered by a dark sun control film.

The fearless automobile accelerates increasingly, savoring the speed that its powerful engine provides. The wind whistles when passing through the airfoil, fixed at the end of its stylized body. The silver alloy wheels shine before the lamps of the light poles that illuminate the road for its entire length. The car headlights look like the eyes of a wild animal, just before the last bite of its prey. The bodywork is in perfect condition, shiny, without a scratch, which makes it seem that this car just came out of a dealership.

The beautiful red sports car keep moving forward until, on the horizon, appears a curious establishment: a small road bar, whose unkempt roof, and large checkered windows, lent it a rustic appearance.

The speed is reduced gradually.

The car is parked in front of the establishment.

On the dark brown wooden double doors – the kind you see at the entrances of Saloons in old Westerns – there is a red neon panel, on which is written:

Lloyd’s Bar

The facade of the bar, covered by a flat painting in the moss-green color (which was already peeling, by the way), is not at all flashy. But the antiquated varnished wooden windows had some charm.

The vehicle engine is turned off.

The driver’s door opens.

A tall young man get off, staring at the old bar entry with his hazel eyes – eyes that create a nice contrast to his white skin, lightly tanned.

The car door is closed. His left arm rises, and his fingers run through his short dark brown hair, naturally spiked. His expression is serene and enigmatic.

He straightens the collar of his red and white plaid shirt, buttoned all the way to the top. He pulls out, from one of the front pockets of his worn blue jeans pants, a black cell phone with chrome accents, and he observes the unit’s display: as the background there is an image of Yin-Yang – wrapped in a solar disc, as it was a kind of eclipse – and in the upper right corner of the screen, a digital clock, scoring 00:37 (12:37 a.m.).

He walks toward the entrance. His steps are elegant, quiet, and lined up – a walking style that blends perfectly with white sneakers he is wearing.

He approaches to the door wings, and he opens it. Although not very big and not too thick, the notorious silver chain around his neck shines, reflecting the lights of the environment.

He enters the bar: a relatively large space, filled with four large pool tables, a pinball machine (whose theme should be The Hotties Bikini-Clad Girls Against Evil Aliens or whatever), and some arcade machines – only the classic fighting games.

The worn floor, the wallpaper wood tone, and the simple, yet flashy, chandeliers created a pleasing effect of a rustic environment. In the background is the bar counter where a beautiful and skillful redheaded barmaid prepares drinks for her customers. Distributed in strategic positions, three huge men in suits make security in this place. Two waitresses, dressed in a kind of black and white uniform, serve the order on the tables – in addition to drinks, this bar has a kitchen that also offer a small selection of portions and meals (usually nothing came out very traditional: rice, beans, steaks and fries).

In the corners of the walls, at the top, there are four small speakers. And right now, they play the chorus of a riff-driven rock song. This music pleases the newcomer, making him smile briefly.

Within the Lloyd’s had more than twenty people, a number until significant if we consider that today is Wednesday, and that this immense bar is in the middle of nowhere. In general, half of those who are there are bikers – with their black leather jackets, directly emerging from a remake of the distant years – and the rest is formed by weary travelers, truck drivers, and half a dozen beautiful and unaccompanied women and the rest is made up of weary travelers, truck drivers, and half a dozen beautiful and unaccompanied women who, obviously, were being entertained by men who are there.

The newcomer goes to the great lacquered counter where drinks are served – in greater numbers, no doubt, were the large doses of spirits – and prepared the cocktails – from those weaker, like a fruit cocktail, even some things that nobody has ever heard of, such as Sitting Bull in Winter Rain (among those who drank it, some claim to have seen gnomes, others flying saucers, and there are those who swear by God that won the national lottery!).

He sits on one of the empty stools at the counter.

He seems to ignore completely all the others who are at the bar – and others show no interest in him as well.

The red-haired woman with blue eyes smiles at the stranger and asks, with moderate sympathy:

Good evening. What will you drink?

He smiles back and replies:

A glass of cold milk, please.

A truck driver, who was taking a triple shot of whiskey on the right starts laughing, and chokes with his own drink. The girl in the bar, which also liked the funny request, complements, with a slight tone of sarcasm:

With chocolate, or pure?

Pure... Today I do not feel so rebellious about to mix the milk with cocoa and sugar... Maybe another day...

Ok…

The barmaid walks to a small beige refrigerator, opens it, and takes from within it a carton of milk.

She takes on the shelf a large 500ml glass mug, that would normally be used to serve draft beer, and fills it with the pale drink pouring from the colored box.

She delivery to the customer, and he thanks her.

The truck driver looks at the scene in disbelief. He did not know if he was more surprised by the request of the unknown guy, or with the fact that this girl has served milk at a roadside bar – whereas they do not serve espresso or other type of coffee there...

The young man realizes the interest of fat and bald truck driver, whose bushy eyebrows writhed in an astounding unknown, and justified himself:

I’m with heartburn, so I cannot drink alcohol...

I see... replies the fat man, surprised by his justification.

Some people noted the fact with a light – and very soon – interest.

The song that was playing finishes, and other start instead. The truck driver finished his drink, paid his bill and left.

The mug of milk is still half full.

The few women who were in the bar also are gone – each of them was accompanied by a lucky man.

The song that plays now looks like a mix of rock’n’roll and country music.

The bar entrance door wings are opened. A blond and slender man, wearing a suit, enters the place. Except for his gray tie, his whole dress is black.

The man is wearing a plaid shirt realizes the entry. Without attracting attention, he picks up his cell again, and looks the hours: 01:02 a.m.

2.

This guy is out of the context of this place, is not it? Says the man with plaid shirt, expressing with a friendly smile.

He? the red-hair girl briefly looks at the suited man in the bar entrance, returning her attention back to milk drinker. It’s been three months since that lawyer started coming here, at least once a week, he tries to invite me for us to do something after my work. But as I never gave him a chance, he always quickly gives up, and would disturb another unfortunate woman. Sometimes he could go out with one of these ‘targets’...

But, as the others ‘targets’ are not present...

Yeah... she sighs, with a slight discouragement. Today will be a long night...

So... Will you give him a chance today? question the plaid-boy, with his smile full of sarcasm.

Feeling challenged, the bar-girl responds in kind, also outlining a smirk:

Who knows... After all, there’s no one that is minimally interesting in this bar tonight...

Making a comical expression of disgust, he laments, between serious and joking:

Oh, you hurt my feelings...

The beautiful redhead laughs.

The man in black arrives at the counter and, smiling at the barmaid, he says:

Good evening, Kelly!

Good evening, Bruno.

You are formidable tonight, you know? More and more beautiful...

Thank you. With the delicacy of an elephant on a pile of crystal glasses, the woman deviates from the subject, trying to prevent new and ridiculous invested. What will you drink?

A double dose of peppermint liqueur mixed with condensed milk, please.

Ok... Just a minute.

Kelly delivers a glass containing the request of not very brilliant lawyer. He sips a drink, and tries to continue the conversation:

I had a business trip to another state, and as this bar is well on the way back, I made sure to make you a little visit. How are you doing, Kelly?

Very well, thank you. She replied, trying to be friendly, but unable to hide the boredom and the total disregard this man causes her.

Wanting to avoid monotony in which this night could turn itself, the man in a plaid shirt directs his speech to the stranger:

Look, my intuition says you’re very lucky tonight! What do you say? Accepts a little challenge?

The lawyer Bruno looks at the young man, quietly, showing some concern. After a moment, he responds with another question:

A challenge?

In fact, he is not of the most brilliant jurists...

Yes, a little game. Easy schemes, simple rules, nothing too complicated... You know play pool?

The lawyer carries a smile full of pride and starts to show himself, wanting to impress the young woman Kelly:

Of course I know! I have a shelf at home, with more than twenty sports trophies! Of these, three are international championships Snooker & Pool!

Let’s play then? Question the challenger.

The girl in the bar supports:

That’s it! What if you bet the round? The loser pays for everything.

Great idea, Kelly! Bruno says, with a blind belief.

Whatever, the other guy complements.

Great! Kelly says with a subtle satisfaction permeating her voice. Go and have fun then! Take it. The first round is on the house.

She gives them a coin from the table.

The ice milk mug is turned in a single gulp, as well as peppermint liqueur glass.

Both arise from their red barstools.

They walk to one of the empty tables.

They put a coin in it, and a click is heard. The lawyer pulls a small drawer, removes the balls, and places them on the table. The man in plaid forms a triangle with them in the opposite corner. In a wall-mounted support, each of them takes a cue from varnished wood.

After everything ready, he looks at the lawyer and says:

You will first. You can open the game.

Right.

A stroke is made by black-suited man. The white ball is fired against the colored balls with great violence. The impact spreads the little balls on the table, and drop the number 5.

Yes! celebrates the suited man.

He continues his move. Pocket the ball 3 in the corner, and the ball 1 in the middle. Narrowly misses the ball 7, which stopped in front of the pocket to the opposite corner that dropped the ball 3.

With a defiant tone, he says to his opponent, with a brief smile of someone who celebrating the victory too soon:

Your turn.

His opponent played... and missed – was a close one, but error is error!

New shots are distributed on the green carpet on the table. The lawyer buries new colored balls in their circular holes. And new ‘almosts’ are provided by the plaid shirt man...

The whole match was that way.

After the game, the challenger just killed the ball 10, while the victorious Bruno dispatched all them, with professional mastery.

Rematch? questions the young who it was defeated.

Of course! You want to raise the bet? The round, and a hundred silvers. How about?

Done!

The loser has bought a coin.

The table is reopened, and all the little multicolored balls are grouped together on it.

The music that plays is now an old classic hard rock.

The man in plaid asks his opponent with a curiosity in his voice:

"Answer me something: do you hear that this region has become somewhat