A Woman Scorned

By John Locke

With a billion-dollar bounty on their lives, Donovan Creed and Callie Carpenter learn yet again that no one—not even their lovers and friends—can be trusted. Virtually broke, they turn to embarrassing home invasions and petty hits to rebuild their nest egg.

In addition to each other, Callie and Creed have dreams. Creed’s is to retire and live in a scenic lake house. Callie’s is to romance a local hot mom. The same hot mom who happens to be the target of a creepy, dangerous stalker named Walter Develin.

Preliminary Reviews

“A quirky, hilarious romp featuring my favorite assassins, Donovan Creed and Callie Carpenter, with author John Locke pulling out all the stops.”

“John Locke’s A Woman Scorned is stuffed to overflowing with all the twists you could possibly hope for in a Donovan Creed novel!”

“Callie and Creed’s zany adventures would make the best TV series ever. Are you listening, Netflix?”

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Locke
• Release date: Apr 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781937656270

John Locke

John Locke kommt 1632 im englischen Wrington zur Welt. Nach dem Besuch der Westminster School in London studiert Locke bis 1658 in Oxford. Zwischen 1660 und 1664 lehrt er dort Philosophie, Rhetorik und alte Sprachen. Sein enzyklopädisches Wissen und seine Studien in Erkenntnistheorie, Naturwissenschaften und Medizin bringen ihm früh die Mitgliedschaft in der Royal Society ein. Als Sekretär und Leibarzt des Earl of Shaftesbury ist Locke in Folge der politischen Machtkämpfe in England gezwungen, ins holländische Exil zu fliehen. Erst 1689 kehrt er nach England zurück und widmet sich auf seinem Landgut seinen Studien. Im selben Jahr erscheint anonym Ein Brief über Toleranz, der die ausschließliche Aufgabe des Staates im Schutz von Leben, Besitz und Freiheit seiner Bürger bestimmt. Die hier formulierten Ideen finden in der amerikanischen Unabhängigkeitserklärung ihren politischen Widerhall. Lockes Hauptwerk, der Versuch über den menschlichen Verstand, erscheint erst 1690 vollständig, wird aber vermutlich bereit 20 Jahre früher begonnen. Es begründet die Erkenntnistheorie als neuzeitliche Form des Philosophierens, die besonders in der französischen Aufklärung nachwirkt. Locke lehnt darin Descartes' Vorstellung von den eingeborenen Ideen ab und vertritt einen konsequenten Empirismus. Aus der theoretischen Einsicht in die Begrenztheit der Erkenntnisfähigkeit ergibt sich für Locke die Forderung, daß sich weder ein Staatssouverän noch eine Glaubensgemeinschaft im Besitz der allein gültigen Wahrheit wähnen darf. Der mündige Bürger, der in der Lage ist, kritisch selbst zu entscheiden, wird konsequenterweise zum pädagogischen Ziel Lockes. John Locke stirbt 1704 als europäische Berühmtheit auf seinem Landsitz in Oates.

Book preview

Part One: Donovan Creed

1.

Sunday Night,

Indianapolis, Indiana.

ALRIGHT, SO YOU’RE NOT gonna believe this, but I’m sitting with Callie Carpenter in a nice little family restaurant, waiting for the waitress to bring our drinks, when this asshole at the table beside us starts yelling at his parents. As we quickly learn, they just informed him his dad isn’t his biological father. 

Bear in mind, this isn’t some twelve-year-old kid they’re talking to, he’s at least twenty-two or twenty-three, and his parents are really upset. But instead of hearing them out, the kid slams his fist on the table and says he can’t believe they lied to him all these years. The mom explains he’s the result of an affair she had, but this wonderful man forgave her and helped raise her child as his own.

Personally, I think they should have told him a long time ago, and not in a restaurant, but that’s just me, and my opinion doesn’t count.

The kid says, What you’re saying, I’m a bastard.

The dad tries to calm him down, and I look at Callie and know she’s feeling the same way I am. We’re impressed this man loved his wife enough to stick around and help raise her illegitimate son. We’re also thinking the kid should be down on his knees thanking the guy. At the same time, we’re aware he just heard this news for the first time, so we’re giving him a little leeway, hoping he’ll soon snap out of it and appreciate the sacrifices his parents made on his behalf.

But then the kid calls his mom a whore, and Callie loses her shit. As she jumps to her feet, the kid abruptly leaves the table, saying, Screw you both. I’m outta here!

But he doesn’t leave the restaurant. Instead, he heads to the restroom.

I got this, I tell Callie.

Now, following the kid, I hear Callie behind me, trying to comfort the mom, who’s sobbing fit to bust. When I get to the restroom, I see him standing at the urinal, taking a piss. I walk up behind him, grab the back of his head, and rage-smash it into the wall. As he falls unconscious into my arms, I set him on the floor gently, then kick him in the ribs. I want nothing more than to wake him up by pouring scalding hot water on his pasty little dick, but I don’t have a container to hold the water, and anyway, he’s bleeding so badly from the head wound I figure he’s had enough.

As I re-enter the dining room, the whole place has gone berserk. There’s a spotlight and TV cameras and a boom mike, and a whole fucking TV crew. As I make my way past an army of production people I see the chubby host telling Callie and the other customers how the people at the table were actors, and the whole thing was a setup for a popular TV show, where they film how normal people react when they witness uncomfortable real-life events.

I catch Callie’s eye and nod, so she’ll know we need to get the fuck out of here before someone finds the actor in the men’s room in a pool of blood with his pants down. Now, outside the restaurant, we make the decision to split up. Callie will head southeast, I’ll go southwest, and we’ll meet tomorrow night in Louisville.

2.

Monday Noon,

Eddyville, Kentucky.

AS A LIFELONG FAN of sweet comestibles, how can I possibly resist entering the diner that claims to make The World’s Best Blackberry Cobbler?

I can’t.

After securing a corner booth I wait for the rotund waitress to execute a peregrination to my general location. But before that occurs, a young lady enters the front door, walks directly to my booth, and plops herself on the bench opposite me, asking, Can I join you?

It appears you already have. What’s up?

I’m Christy, and I like your looks.

The situation would be vastly improved if I could return the compliment. Instead, I ask, Are we talking about my smile, or—

We’re talking about your size. Are you as strong as you look?

Stronger.

"You look like you can handle yourself. Can you?"

Most of the time. What have you got in mind?

I need some furniture moved. She laughs. Just kiddin’! The truth is I’m caught in a bad relationship. I want to end things with my sorry-ass boyfriend, but he’s livin’ under my roof.

You want him out?

Exactly. Along with his clothes, his clutter, and personal shit. But if I order him out, he’ll likely assault me.

How big is he?

"It ain’t how big he is, it’s how mean."

Has he ever hit you?

"Lots of times. Not like, trying to seriously hurt me, but George drinks and if I happen to say somethin’ that provokes him, he tends to come at me. He’s never broken any bones or eye sockets, but I also never threatened to break up with him before, and this might push him over the edge. I should probably mention he stabbed his wife."

He’s married?

Not anymore. She’s dead.

How’d she die?

I just told you.

This sounds like a job for the authorities.

Are you bein’ serious right now?

Absolutely. Police are trained to handle domestic abuse. They’ll help you get a restraining order.

"Dude, this is Eddyville!"

So?

"Even in this shithole I ain’t the prettiest flower in the garden. And there ain’t twenty eligible men in the whole county I ain’t related to."

I have no idea what you’re trying to say.

I’m sayin’ no man in Western Kentucky’s gonna date a woman that took out a restrainin’ order on her last boyfriend. The only way to get George out is the threat of physical force.

"Fair enough. But why me? Surely you’ve got a father or uncles or brothers or cousins that could scare him off."

Christy sighs. Again, that’s sendin’ the wrong message to my future beaus. It’s gotta look like you’re my boyfriend, kickin’ him to the curb. That’s somethin’ every man will understand. It might sound like a big deal, but honestly, you’re so big it’ll never come down to an actual fight. If you so much as threaten to kick his ass he’ll probably shit himself.

I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I’m just here for the cobbler.

Save your money. It was great on Friday, but that cobbler’s three days old.

I’ll take my chances.

You won’t help me?

I can’t think of a single reason to do so.

How ’bout the joy of knowin’ you helped a damsel in distress?

Sorry. I marked that one off my bucket list years ago.

I might be coaxed to give you a kiss.

No offense, but that sounds woefully inadequate.

Titties?

Thanks, but I’m gonna have to pass.

Would you say no to a blow job?

Seriously?

Finest in the county.

When?

After George moves out.

I shake my head. Sorry. Too nebulous.

What’s that mean?

Vague. Indefinite. Uncertain. I’m a stickler for mutual consent.

That comment proves you ain’t from around here! But I’m givin’ you my consent right now.

True. But when George is gone you might change your mind. A woman can withdraw her consent at any time. Even in the middle of the act.

I wouldn’t do that. You’d have my faithful promise.

Sorry, but that argument would get laughed right out of court.

"You’d sue me over a blow job?"

I laugh. It’s a figure of speech.

What would convince you I’m good for it?

"You’d have to blow me before I throw him out."

Christy frowns. "How about durin’?"

What do you mean?

We go to my house; you tell him to pack his shit and get the fuck out. While he’s doin’ that we’ll wait outside in your car and I’ll go down on you.

Is this a joke?

"Not to me, it ain’t! I mean, Jesus, you’re old enough to be my dad! I’d offer cash, but I’m broke. Not to mention desperate. I’d almost rather die than perform oral sex on a stranger, but I got nothin’ else to give, so, how about it?"

I smile. You’ve won me over.

Thank you. She reaches across the table for my hand and shakes it. Deal?

Deal.

What’s your name?

Ken.

Seconds later, the waitress approaches, saying, I swear to God you look like Brad Pitt. Anyone ever tell you that?

Sometimes.

Well, it’s true, ’cept you’re bigger and more handsome. She pauses, taking me in. Then laughs, fans her face with her hand and says, Whew! and laughs again. Sorry to make you wait. I’m Sherry. What can I get you?

I smile. How fresh is your blackberry cobbler?

If it was any fresher, I’d have to slap it’s face!

I frown. That’s too bad. I’m partial to three-day-old cobbler.

She glares at Christy. You got a big mouth, you know that?

Christy sticks out her tongue and says, This here’s my boyfriend, Ken.

Sherry laughs. "He might be Jennifer Anniston’s boyfriend, not yours."

Christy says, Tell her, Ken.

It’s true, I say. We’ve been seeing each other for weeks.

Where?

Paducah, Christy says.

Sherry starts to say something, but Christy cuts her off. We can’t stay. I promised Ken some romance, and I aim to make him happy.

Sherry gives me a wink and says, If things don’t work out between ya’ll, you know where to find me. And when I ain’t here, I’m in the green house on the other side of the parkin’ lot.

I give her a thumbs up, then follow Christy through the diner and out the door.

3.

MOST FRONT DOORS LEAD to a foyer, but Christy’s opens directly into a den, where her scraggly boyfriend George is lying on the couch in his underwear. Without looking up, he says, You’ve been gone two hours. Where the fuck you been?

This is Ken.

Now he looks up. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I just told you, Christy says. He’s Ken."

As George gets to his feet and stumbles toward me, I can tell he’s high. He stops about three feet away, sizes me up and says, What’s your business with my girl?

He’s my boyfriend, Christy says.

Bullshit. He’s older than my dad, ’cept my dad ain’t gay.

"Ken ain’t even a little bit gay. We’ve been fuckin’."

George laughs. Bullshit. And don’t tell me he’s straight. Ever’ damn hair’s in place! And look at his nails! He’s too pretty to like girls.

My turn to speak: Christy’s breaking up with you. She wants you to leave.

He lets that comment hang in the air ten seconds before looking at Christy. Then he says, "Is that true? You want me outta here?"

Yes, she says. It’s over between us. We’re done. I want you to go.

When?

Now.

He says, "Maybe I will leave. It’d serve you right if I do."

Go ahead.

"Maybe I will! Maybe I’ll just go out and find me some prime pussy."

Christy says, If you had a bigger dick you could’ve found some prime pussy right here.

Fuck you! he shouts.

I point to the center of the floor and say, Gather all your shit and put it in a pile. Christy will check it and remove whatever belongs to her. When she’s done, you’ll need to remove yourself and your possessions from the premises.

Oh yeah? he sneers. And what if I don’t?

I throw a punch so fast he doesn’t have time to react. It catches him flush on the jaw and knocks him cold. He hits the floor with a sickening thud.

Christy screams, "Omigod! Why’d you do that? I said threaten him, not hit him!"

Over the years I’ve learned the best threat’s a punch in the mouth.

How bad’s he hurt?

Not very. I glance at the couch. We could do it there, if you like.

It takes her a few seconds to realize I’m referring to the blow job.

"Are you crazy?"

It’d give us something to do while we wait.

"I can’t blow you in front of George!"

Why not? He’s out cold.

It’s not what we agreed. Can you wake him up?

You have any smelling salts?

"Why the fuck would I have smelling salts in my house?"

How about ammonia?

She shakes her head.

I pull George up to a sitting position and massage