Road to Reprisal

By Sam Lang

The small town of Reprisal holds a deadly secret.

Reprisal is the only town between the old prison and the interstate. Five chilling convicts await their transfer to a new prison. The entire town has been evacuated for what should have been an anonymous, if not routine, transfer.

But someone set a trap for the murderers.

Underneath this catastrophe, a shadow lurks. Is this shadow the key to revenge or something darker?

Eddie Newport, the town reporter, thought he left Reprisal in his past. The past has a way of catching up and it brought Eddie home. He never realized how many secrets his town had until he saw it from a new perspective. Now, he has one frantic night to solve this horrific mystery. 

Will Eddie discover the secret history of Reprisal or will he be the next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twisted Horne Media
• Release date: Nov 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386439820

Sam Lang

Sam Lang writes with a wicked sense of humor. He tells stories of suspense, horror and humor. He has a life-long passion for books and movies from Kafka to Romero, King to Carpenter. Writing as Sam Lang allows him to explore his own doubts, curiosities and fears. And then he puts the creature back in the cage.

Book preview

Book 1

The Impeccant

Chapter 1

Making Plans, Making Memories

They’re all dead.

But that comes later.

For now, Eddie Newport watched with curiosity as the old man’s eyes focused on some passing idea. He wondered what memory could have stolen the man’s gaze. Then his friend, the Chief and only police officer in their town, snapped back to finish his presentation for the small group, which included a CNN reporter, the Two Johns, as Eddie referred to them, and Eddie himself; the reporter, photographer and editor-in-chief of his own creation, The Reprisal Record.

That is, to my way of thinking, the only way to do it, said Chief Canton. He paused and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened, then he raised his left eyebrow causing them to wave. This reminded Eddie of the bed sheets his mother used to hang outside on the line, curling and drooping in the fall breeze.

The Chief continued, apparently oblivious to the faint sadness he awoke in Eddie’s own thoughts, What we have here is possibly the most foul collection of evil souls I have ever had the unfortunate experience to encounter. And the problem is we can’t turn ‘em loose just because the government has decided to close down that prison up there.

His face showed cracks and lines like the antiquated oil paintings that Eddie knew from his one brief semester in Paris. Each of these wrinkles worked together as he spoke, like seams holding together the appearance of a venerable old man. Still, it pleased Eddie to note, he had enough life in him to be the loudest one in the room. Eddie knew that not everything the Chief said was to be counted as wisdom, since his friend did have a way of telling a dirty joke that could always keep his listener’s attention.

The aged Police Chief tossed his thumb over his shoulder at the chalkboard behind him.

How many times do I have to explain this thing? he asked irritably.

Eddie had hurriedly taped a map to the board before their guests had arrived, barely covering the half-erased notes from the last town meeting. The wooden frame was scuffed and nicked from years of abuse and the chalk tray even had burn marks where countless cigarettes had been extinguished in a less PC era. Eddie secretly hated those acrid, smoky meetings. The masking tape barely stuck to the dusty surface. The only places where the map was secure had at least three jagged pieces of tape barely clinging to the board.

Someone, Eddie suspected the Chief, had traced in fat red marker a route on the map from ‘A’ on the left to the right edge of the map where a ‘B’ had an arrow growing out of it, indicating that ‘B’ was on a different map. The blood red line passed through their little town of Reprisal, which looked like an upside-down ‘T’ on the map, representing the only two streets that comprised the downtown.

Taped next to the map, Eddie had hung a Wall Street Journal page with the headline Government to reduce spending on Correctional Institutions. The subtitle continued, Funds diverted to Anti-Terror Programs, Possibility of Closing Nearly 50 Federal Prisons Will Burden States.

Below that, he had proudly taped one other, smaller sheet of paper, his own Reprisal Record. He felt it necessary to deliver the news in a less disheartening way, Local Landmark will Vanish – Edgar King Federal Prison to be Demolished. His subtitle below this read War News and Terror Alerts found on Page 2. As his patriotic duty, he knew he could not fail to report on the ever-continuing war.

Eddie turned his attention to the female reporter who had asked the Chief to repeat his plan. He could see that she intended to press her luck further.

We understand the necessity of moving these inmates to another facility, but why by bus? she asked. Eddie studied her short, slick-styled hair, too much make-up and business suit like a high school boy imagining the possibilities of a young, new substitute teacher. Considering the Chief’s biased thoughts on gender roles, Eddie knew he really disliked this woman presenting herself as a man. Although Eddie was not as particular, the Chief constantly reminded him that he preferred real women. Eddie suspected that his friend probably would not know what to do with one now at his age.

It had been Eddie’s experience that Chief Matt Canton was typically not interested in political correctness and never saw the sense in letting women do a man’s work. He let it be known on many occasions if it did not involve preparing food or a baby, it was man’s work. In that regard, the septuagenarian was showing very little patience when now having to deal with one on a political level.

Instead of one of the Chief’s real women, the self-proclaimed geniuses at CNN sent her, looking self-assured and presumably ready to make it in a man’s world. Eddie felt the Chief’s view to be somewhat chauvinistic, yet he sometimes, like now, delighted in the frankness of it.

Still, Eddie watched the Chief eyeballing the other two men throughout the night’s event. The Chief saw, as did he, the way the other two men, acting like a pack of wild dogs, circled their potential prey before the meeting. Eddie had imagined their salivating, but he knew the way one of them was holding his breath was real, trying to keep his gut from poking out. Eddie hoped he was not as obvious. Thankfully, he did not share the same protruding stomach.

Look here Ms...what’s your name again, the Chief faked an addled memory.

Eddie saw that the insult was not lost on her as she reminded him it was Catherine Pierce.

Well, Ms. Pierce, Canton began condescendingly, you aware we got a war goin’ on and what them terrorists did has shut down the airplanes altogether? Now I ‘spect it ain’t a real war with them cowards hidin’ in their holes an’ catchin’ us when our backs’re turned, but ain’t been many times in my life that the whole country come to a stand-still and only once before that they shut down the planes, Canton said.

She started to reply, I’m certainly aware of the incident and have every respect for the vict...

Eddie tried to interrupt her before Chief Canton drew his revolver again, as he was prone to do. Eddie had witnessed this scene several times in the past, the old man waving his pistol in the air and lately putting a round in the ceiling had apparently become the Chief’s favorite way to end an argument.

Chief, Eddie interjected, what we are trying to establish is why we can’t wait to transfer these villains until after this new ban on flying has been lifted.

Even though this woman had called him Jimmy Olsen when she first came into the room, Eddie tried to save her from the soon-to-be-boiling wrath of the Chief. Besides, he had always thought of himself as more of a hero than a sidekick, more of a Peter Parker-type. And, despite not having had a steady girlfriend since college, he was not uncontrollably attracted to Catherine Pierce. These days, he took it as a compliment when anyone guessed that he was under thirty. Of course, he realized the Olsen-jibe was not meant to be a compliment.

The Chief hooked his thumbs under the armholes of his suede vest and rubbed gently at the wool lining.

As Eddie waited for the Chief to respond, he thought he felt the air in the conference room of the Police Station stop moving. Eddie even thought he could detect small beads of sweat across the forehead of the otherwise unyielding woman.

Eddie, with the two other male reporters at his side, waited in silence to see what would happen next. He imagined he could hear his own eyelashes swish together with each uncontrollable blink as the impregnated moment swelled until the Chief decided whether to respond to Eddie or put the woman in her place.

Canton had been Chief of Police in Reprisal since before Eddie was born and if he had learned anything from anyone, he learned how to talk to a small town Police-Chief-Ad-Infinitum. So, he waited breathlessly to see if his comment would prevail.

During the unbearable pause, Eddie’s mind tumbled uncontrollably through memories of his friendship with the Chief like a two year old with the TV remote. He knew the Chief was as fond of him as he was of any lifelong resident of his town, but he also knew the Chief had a hard time accepting that Eddie had gone off to college and actually come back home, despite the circumstances. Very few people who managed to escape from Reprisal actually returned, and those who had enough brains for college generally stayed as far away as possible. Although the Chief never said, Eddie felt the old man was disappointed that Eddie had left for college right after high school. And disappointed more so that he had to come home right before his last semester to bury his father. Eddie’s thoughts skidded away from that nightmarish disaster. The boy still might have gotten away, except he had to stay to take care of his mother for her last few disabled and disfigured years, leaving behind a few unsolved mysteries, an incomplete journalism degree and the first great love of his life.

But that was a different story.

Upon Eddie’s return, he wanted the Chief to take him seriously as a journalist, even though he did not finish school, which kept him from more auspicious employment. But, as he himself knew, when the little secrets and stupid mistakes are known, certain images from the past override the adult they tried to become. Eddie knew the picture of himself stuck forever in the Chief’s head. It was of a much younger Eddie and the homecoming queen getting caught skinny-dipping at the church pool.

What do you call that? An already old man had asked the scared boy.

It’s a swan dive, Eddie had replied, trying to save face though naked and shivering.

The girl, who Eddie would later not marry, ran off with their entire pile of clothes.

Not the jump. That. Canton gestured below Eddie’s navel, Don’t look like no swan to me, looks more like a baby chick.

Since that day, and to Eddie’s slight emasculation, Canton had always referred to him as:

Chick, started the Chief.

Eddie let out an audible sigh, thinking the conflict had been diverted. Then he flushed red with mild embarrassment at the use of the old nickname in front of his assembled peers. Still that did not stop the old man.

I ain’t the one that makes these decisions. Besides, that place is falling to pieces. So if they don’t get moved soon, they’s likely to move out on their own, Canton finished.

This finally relieved the mounting pressure in the room. Eddie gave himself credit for narrowly averting the Chief’s random gunfire.

One of the Two Johns, a regional reporter by the name of John Rublanski, gave Eddie a sideways look about the nickname. Eddie could see from the unamused look on Ms. Pierce’s face that she assumed it was only a hick custom or more likely his real name. Without appearing to give it any further thought, she turned her barrage back onto Canton.

Ms. Catherine Pierce blasted, But don’t you think it is excessive to clear out the entire town for a moving vehicle that will be within your town limits for a maximum of only ten minutes?

Where you come from you may have a Hot-Damn-New-York minute, but out here ONLY ten minutes ain’t ONLY nothin’. When I was gettin’ my head shot at by them Nazis, ten minutes coulda been ten days for all the world. And sometimes it felt like years, the Chief lectured, barely pausing for breath. So no, I don’t think, I know it’s not excessive to e-vac-u-ate MY town for their own safety, and the Mayor agrees.

He almost spelled evacuate to deliver his point. Eddie knew his mind was made up and right or wrong, there was no living creature that could change it.

Ms. Catherine Pierce looked mortified at being spoken to in what she must consider such an uncouth manner. Then she glared at the amusement sprouting on the faces of her fellow journalists. She did not try to hide the fact that she thought they were a bunch of uncultured buffoons.

What happens, Canton paused for effect, what happens if on the off chance, his eyes twinkled and Eddie imagined him playing out the possible scenarios in his mind, as unlikely as it may be, that bus stops, for whatever reason, in my town?

Since before Eddie could remember, it was never our town or Reprisal, it was always my town.

And everyone knew he was as protective of his town as he was of his own home, his privacy and almost as protective as he was of his cigar cutter which he allegedly shared with Prime Minister Churchill when a much younger Matt Canton was recovering in an English hospital.

Of course, this was a highly unsubstantiated claim that was since taken as fact out of respect for Reprisal’s only returning son from World War II. Or maybe, Eddie sometimes wondered, it was respect for those who did not come home at all.

What happens? he repeated.

No one had an answer. Eddie did not even have a usual smart-ass comment.

I’ll tell you what happens, he continued, nothing. Nothing happens because no one will be here and everything will be locked tighter than a Jewish piggy bank.

As nothing was ever locked so tight as this particular type of piggy bank, Eddie tried to out-cough the colloquialism. The Chief had his own way of talking at which Eddie saw some strangers took offense. Eddie knew Ms. Pierce was definitely one of those. However, he could not quite drown out the old man and the Chief either did not notice, or did not care whose feelings he hurt.

Bless you, Chick, Canton said. The Chief took a moment to polish the badge pinned to his vest with a slight fog of breath and a wipe of his sleeve. Eddie loved these little gestures that reminded everybody who was in charge. Apparently satisfied with his work, the Chief looked up from his badge and finished, There’s enough in my town’s coffers that the Mayor and I decided to treat the town to Denny’s and the Holidome down by the interstate.

Eddie raised his pencil to get Canton’s attention.

Will that be the one-hundred and forty-two residents of the town proper or will it include the entire county? Eddie was desperately trying to change the subject.

To his own discomfort, he did not act fast enough.

Somehow, Catherine Pierce held some of the more sensitive information on this situation, and now Eddie could see she was angling to put the Chief on the spot.

It is my understanding, she offered, that the state is unofficially paying a stipend for the use of your town in order to keep the publicity and actual event away from more populated areas. Any truth to that?

She appeared quite pleased with her ability to shock people. However, since the men in this circle already knew the answer, she had no shock value and her question fell flat, ignored and unanswered.

Instead, the Chief went into further detail discussing the transfer again, which Eddie already knew by heart.

The most direct route from the Old Fed, that’s what he called the soon-to-be-defunct prison, and the State Shop is straight up Uphill Road.

He pulled an enormous cigar from the inside pocket of his well-worn vest and used it as a pointer on the map, tapping it on the upside-down ‘T’.

Uphill Road was actually the main street of the town, but Main Street intersected it perpendicularly at almost the exact surveyed center of the town proper.

Canton pulled the famous cigar cutter from the hip pocket of a pair of jeans that had been worn too many days without being washed.

When Ms. Pierce saw him cut the end, she surrendered and began packing her things. In her world, Eddie suspected, smoking had become passé and she was not going to be insulted further.

You’re not leaving already? The Chief feigned disappointment. He flipped open his lighter and waved the flame in her direction as he continued speaking, Don’t ya want to hear how the interstate is three hours out of the way and the Mayor did his civic duty by volunteerin’ my town? 

She stood from the table and the four men did too, in automatic response. Eddie prided himself on these men not being so uncultured as Ms. Catherine Pierce may have believed.

Let me give you some parting advice, the Chief said in a low, almost menacing voice.

He sucked deep on the cigar and exhaled a cloud of smoke in her face. She gagged slightly, trying to hold her breath. Eddie knew that sweet, sticky breath from many whispered comments and shared laughs. Maybe once or twice in his life had he heard his old friend use such a tone.

Some things, he continued, don’t need to be ferreted out. You leave it alone and sometimes it takes care of itself.

As diplomatically as possible, she thanked him for his time.

I really don’t expect much of a story, but you may get a mention on the website, she said over her shoulder, heading to the door.

Without further pomp, she left the chief’s office, visibly praying to herself never to come back to this town.

The Two Johns followed her out of the room with their eyes and back to her hotel room down by the interstate with their imaginations.

The click of her heels faded on the hardwood floor and disappeared when she let herself out the front door.

Canton stuffed the cigar in his mouth and then spoke around it, I figured my I.O.U. to God was gonna come due ‘fore she left.

About time too, I gotta take a leak, squealed John Drayton, the second John, loosening his belt, and bolting from the room, leaving his Drayton Press notepad adorned with graphic doodles of what could have been him and Ms. Catherine Pierce on the table for all to see.

The Chief spun on his heels, always amazing Eddie with an agility that did not fade with age, and walked back to his chair. Some days, Eddie noticed, the Chief’s limp, a World War II souvenir, barely affected him. The aching wood of the smooth oak creaked under his weight, not because he was too big, but because it was too old. The big steel spring whined underneath as he swiveled and leaned back against the curve of the seat. He heaved his boots up onto the edge of the desk, knocking loose small bits of dried mud, and silently enjoyed his cigar. Eddie tolerated the pungent exhalations, but could not stand cigarettes. He found some small relief that his other colleagues this evening were non-smokers.

Now Eddie and the remaining John reviewed the notes and doodles on their own yellow notepads while they waited for the second John to return. Neither Eddie nor the first John had their name emblazoned on the head of their notepad. Of course, neither of them had inherited a publishing family’s fortune either. Outside, the late afternoon sky began to darken with clouds.

John Drayton returned, still zipping his pants, his belt buckle flapping loosely, You boys weren’t waiting for me, were ya? he joked.

Like we have anything better to do, Eddie answered forcing a grin. The spoiled Drayton earned the title of his least favorite of the Two Johns. Now let’s get to some interesting details, like who our celebrities will be tomorrow. Eddie used the word celebrity as a euphemism to hide his own trepidation.

And make it quick, I want to try and beat this storm back to the city, added the first John, he already started packing his own briefcase.

The Chief seemed eager to get to the meat as well. He cradled his cigar on the edge of a glass ashtray and pulled himself up to the table.

"It goes without sayin’ that none of this gets out ‘til after the ride is done. We don’t want no protestors showin’ up and slowin’ things