Country Criminal: I Was Born for This

By Remi Robinson

John Anthony Simmonz is a sexy, smart, methodical genius who chose his career path since birth and that is the life of crime. He wreaks havoc in the small town of Pixton, Ga. where he was born and raised and will become known as the Country Criminal. By assuming different identities his biggest caper will be to rid the long time reigning Sheriff of the three things he loved the most; money, his precious brotherhood and his family. The Sheriff will become his biggest target and his greatest pursuer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477260098

Remi Robinson

I have always had an over active imagination with a desire to share these imaginative notions with a large audience. Writing has allowed me to be creative and come up with characters that I think others will enjoy as well as admire. I truly believe the creation of this character will capture the attention of the reader with page turning entertainment. Remi Robinson was born and raised in a small town in Georgia under the guidance and loving support of a single mother. While never experiencing life outside the small farming town, Remi went on to join the ranks of the United States Army where he received an honorable discharge. After completiing his obligations to the Army, Remi attended Georgia Southern University and obtained a Bachelor of Science degree in Communication Arts with an emphasis in Public Relations. Still searching for life’s rewards Remi graduated college and moved to Atlanta where he diligently served as a law enforcement officer in a county outside of Atlanta. He currently resides in McDonough, Georgia, a quaint town just outside of metropolitan Atlanta.

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© 2012 Remi Robinson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 8/28/12

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6010-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6008-1 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6009-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012916135

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

To Spencer, Cameron, Casey and Tyler my unimaginable inspiration.

Prologue

It was a midsummer’s day in the little town of Pixston, Georgia. The population was small, quaint and somewhere in the area no less than 12,000 people, but no more than 15,000. Only thing about small towns is that everyone was related in some way or another. In towns like Pixston, most of the locals slept with their doors unlocked and windows opened, so that they can catch a summer breeze, which would help with the dank humidified smells of their homes.

But for Jearline Williamson, the summer of 1977 was one that was unbearable, uncomfortable and unforgettable. Jearline was in her second pregnancy and because her first born was a life altering experience of happiness, she had no idea that this one would be a life altering empiricism, surrounded by embarrassment, chaos and possible death. Had Jearline been able to read the future or had her fortune read to her, when the gypsy circus came to town, she might have had her doubts about going full term with this child, this thing she was giving life. But her reasons for keeping the child would have outweighed any forewarned advice that anyone could have given her about abortions.

Jearline was born into a small family her self filled with love and adoration for life. Her mother was known to everyone in town as Nana or Ma. She also remembers her first born was an easy pregnancy and she thought that maybe he could use a playmate. Jearline was also raised on faith in the Methodist church. At the end of the day she did not want her name to be scarred. She did not want to be the talk of the town about aborting or as some towns folks would say, She murdered that po helpless little young in. Jearline knew that no matter how broken the country dialect was or how correct the grammar was, the words hurt. And in the town of Pixston almost everyone used that country dialect including herself.

As the mid summer day began to fall into the evening hours Jearline begin to have her doubts; she screamed out in agony with an ear shrieking scream of unbearable pain. And with the heat index being extremely high with no summer breeze to calm the humidity she was almost on the brink of insanity. Holy mother of God, Gotdamn, motherfucker, shit. No fucking way! Oh Lord, help me Jesus! she screamed. After hearing these choice words it seemed that these where the only words that calmed this thing growing inside of her. To help ease the pain and agony that she was experiencing Jearline decided to get out of the bed and do something to occupy her mind. This child was agitated and it felt as if it was trying to rip itself from her body.

As Jearline walked up the hallway of the three bedroom ranch style home, she passed by the room of her first born and saw him lying in bed calmly sleeping and oblivious to her disgust with this pregnancy. Jearline entered the kitchen and begin to wash the dishes. Once she placed her hands into the soap filled water she cut her finger on a knife. Because of the initial shock she failed to realize that this was like a sedative, the child became lost in a state of tranquility. If she could see inside her belly she would have found him smiling. The child was smiling because his host was bleeding, and slightly shocked from the sight of her on blood, spewing from her fingertip. As she withdrew her hands from the soap filled water, she then began to suck the fingers in desperation to stop the bleeding, she could feel this child becoming completely at ease. Jearline mumbled to herself, What da world, I don’t hurt now. She had no idea that this child was lavishing the taste of fresh blood flowing from the umbilical cord. Even though she already felt a strong bond of motherly love, she continued to have her doubts about carrying on with the full term of this pregnancy.

As Jearline headed back to the bedroom to lay back down she then stubbed her toe on the bedpost. Again, she failed to notice the serenity of this child that came when she experienced pain. All Jearline knew was that she finally was going to get a good night of sleep. She had no idea that the child was actually smiling as if it was almost grinning. This child enjoyed pain and the surge of adrenaline that flowed from its mother.

It was three long arduous months that past, but for the majority of time Jearline had figured out how to carry out the term of this pregnancy, and during her periodic visits to her doctor the question was asked how she became blackened and bruised over seventy percent of her body. But each visit Jearline had rehearsed her answers by saying she was constantly waking in the middle of the night to use the restroom because the child was resting against her bladder. And each time she bumped into something or tripped over her clothing that was left in the floor, causing her to fall.

During a stormy night on October 31st Jearline was in labor. She knew something was strange about this evening because the sky was black as if the abyss had suddenly closed over the earth. The only light came from the crackling of the lightning that was continual. It was this way so often she thought to herself that a book can be read by its illumination. It was an odd storm that had no raindrops and the only places it struck were near the town’s hospital.

While in labor the doctor yelled out, Push I can see. Holy Jesus! Oh shit the hands are coming out. The child appeared to be pulling itself free of this vaginal prison by pulling itself free by the clavicle walls of the vagina. Flabbergasted and stunned the doctor inadvertently started to tremble. While trying to grasp hold of her composure she said,Oh my God this child is not crying but laughing and grinning like a hyena at a slaughter house. During this time the doctor had no idea that her long blond hair became frizzled and exposed from under her surgical cap and the bling of a diamond encrusted heart shape necklace was dangling in the shadows of the light.

As a bolt of lightning struck loudly as if it was inside the room the child freed itself from its first prison sentence. The doctor exclaimed, It’s a boy. Thank you Jesus it’s over. His hand reached out and grabbed the necklace as if he was the rightful owner to it. The doctor had to use a considerable amount of force to snatch the necklace from the baby’s grip. But Jearline knew deep down inside her heart, that this is only the beginning. All she would live to say with regret is, What have I done.

A Tyrant of Many Faces

Chapter 1

It was a beautiful spring morning in the little town of Pixston. The air smelled of blooming flowers and the sky was full of colorful birds chirping and singing their lullabies. Most people were outside enjoying the breeze and sounds of spring time with summer on the rise. The locals were either cutting grass, working in the gardens or tending to the farm animals which tended to roam freely in the colored communities. Despite the attempts to keep most of them secured inside fences it wasn’t uncommon to see a horse, chickens, roosters, an occasional cow or pig wandering through the neighborhoods. With every window open in the house, John Anthony Simmonz sat in his favorite chair savoring the thoughts of a successful ploy. Every since he could remember he always called his capers and crimes ploys. He was thirty three now and still felt like he was not on top of his game in his chosen profession. He was his worst critic. After each ploy he would sit there playing his ipod, listening to his old school R & B reminiscing about his youthful days in Pixston, Georgia and critiquing his crimes analyzing them for ways to be better.

He drifted back into time when he was five years old and he was with his mom. They had gone downtown to the local grocery store which at that time was called Piggy Wiggly. While standing in the grocery store he recalled standing in the fresh fruit area. He was watching a white lady eating her fill of fruits and never placing any inside her shopping cart. It was at this time where his eyes begin to flicker and his hands begin to jerk uncontrollably. If anyone was watching they would have noticed the uncontrollable twitching of his fingers and to an onlooker he would have appeared to be having a spastic attack. As Barbara Mason started jamming to her song, After the Pain a wide smile appeared on his face. John Anthony was looking back in time as if it was yesterday he began to lick his lips as if he was actually living out this moment of time. He can practically taste the fruit. He smacked his lips reenacting that exact moment, the fruit was good.

He remembered, he lost total control of his hands and the fruit juices flowed from his mouth. At five years old this was his moment of heaven. John Anthony begin reaching back into his memory as if he was living that moment now recalling the white officer approaching him and grabbing him by the shoulder in the fruit section.

Hey boy what the hell is wrong with you? You ain’t got good sense, stated the officer.

What you talking bout sir, I ain’t done nuttin that nobody else ain’t done.

What you say boy. So you getting flipped at the mouth, I see youz a smartass.

No I’m just eating some fruit. I saw that white lady do it and so did you. So I thought I would get me some.

Looka here you lil shit, Where ya ma at. The officer finally replied.

John Anthony then shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t know where his mother was. So the officer then grabbed him by the back of the neck and led him to the managers’ office. John Anthony, with a larger than life smile on his face, didn’t even flinch from the pain that shot through his neck as the officer grabbed him. The officer finally snapped his final remarks. Look here boy, you lil shit. You might think its funny, but I ain’t laughing. I’ll see yer black ass again.

When Jearline showed up at the manager’s office the smile was still on John Anthony’s face, she knew where he was heading but being a mother she apologetically pleaded to the manager to let him go, she was simply prolonging the inevitable. Jearline reached out and grabbed John Anthony by the arm in an attempt to scold him but the smile would not fade from his face. He looked up at his mother as she looked up towards the heavens to ask not for help, but forgiveness. This will not be the last time she pleads for forgiveness for her sons deeds.

Only John Anthony knew why the smile would never fade, it was because he knew he got a way with his first ploy. This was when he decided to call all of his crimes ploys, because each one will have a stratagem, a form of subterfuge. The officer only saw him eating the fruit but never discovered the fruit he had hidden inside of his pants