Butta'

By Corey Aaron Burkes

Introducing Butta’—The victim of a devastating loss by the hand of the world’s most powerful man, Lingo Stein of Stein Diamonds Industries. His network of friends in high places is so inexhaustible, it’s impossible to touch him.
On the eve of Lingo’s anniversary celebrating fifteen years of owning the Earth’s largest diamonds, he unveils his greatest achievement: a high tech vault at the top of his new, 112-story tower, equipped with the deadliest security system designed by man. Everything from Gatling guns to laser cannon jet-powered sentries.

This is the moment Butta’ waited for. The opportunity to avenge her family and prove, once and for all, the means to Lingo’s vast wealth was stolen from her father. Assisted by her three, trusted friends and a rogue thief, Butta’ leads a daring heist at the tower and to take Lingo’s life.

Will executing Lingo Stein bring closure to her life-long suffering? Can anyone ever effectively seek revenge against a global mastermind? Or will she sacrifice the lives of her friends to settle an old score?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corey Aaron Burkes
• Release date: Jan 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781005593100

Corey Aaron Burkes

Author Corey Aaron Burkes is known for his intensive storytelling and emotionally connected, page-turning style of writing that builds suspense and thrills straight through to the end of the novel.As of 2019-2020, he prepares for a new chapter in his writing and producing career with a renewed focus on producing full cast audio theater podcasts with a host of new stories through his Atlanta-based 'Podcast Performances'! Pulling together new and extremely talented actors and actresses to ever voice a production to truly provide stories you can feel.

Book preview

Corey Aaron Burkes

Butta’

PUBLISHED BY Podcast Performances

podcastperformances.com

Copyright © 2020 Burkes World Enterprises LLC

ISBN: 9781005593100

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Corey Aaron Burkes

Day of Indulgence, Sea Salt Body Scrub, World-Class Swedish Massage, Hibiscus Signature Facial and Citrus Punch Manicure and Pedicure are used by permission by Hibiscus Day Spa, Brooklyn, New York

2011 Edit by BeforeYouPublish.com

Inner Photo Model: Samantha Murdock

Photography by Kim Cantey-Davis of mystiqphotography.com

Original Novel Release: 2007

Novel Re-Release: 2011

DEDICATION

To all new authors everywhere.

It all starts by doing instead of just talking about it.

That ‘one day’ is right now.

ALSO FROM THE AUTHOR

Family in Savannah

Butta’: Worldwide

Scratch: A Short Horror Story

AUTHOR’S PLEDGE

The author Corey Aaron Burkes, handcrafted this story.

From the first word to the last, this novel was made from the heart and carries with it a dedication to quality and superior storytelling without third-party interests, research marketing teams, or based on the temperature of public opinion.

This is storytelling in the purest form—with care and with the sole interest of entertaining you, the reader.

sole interest of entertaining you, the reader.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Photo

Chapter 10

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

About the Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my family.

PROLOGUE

City, Louisiana - 15 Years ago …

Lingo Stein enjoyed the old ways of doing things—the classics. To him, there was nothing like an old fashioned lynching. The wringing of a nigger’s neck enthralled him. The stench of friction-burned skin and blood reminded him of when his daddy use to hem up ten colored bastards in one night; in broad daylight sometimes.

‘Yeah—those were some good times’, he regressed. These days, all the lynching he could do was either financially or under the cloak of darkness. The pesky civil rights laws prevented him from acting out the damage he really wanted to do.

Damn laws. "F the laws, is what his daddy would say; dripping with a mixture of a German and deep southern bayou accent. Ain't no law in heaven or Earth that can stop me from stamping out that inferior piece of sh—"

Mr. Stein, his attendant, Daniel called—snapping him out of blissful memories, aren’t we asking questions?

I suppose that’s why we’re here, yes? He had almost forgotten this was a purposeful lynching—a method to extract information from not just one—not just two or three—but seven—count ’em folks—seven niggers of the same family; ages thirty-seven to nine years-old.

God! Lingo regressed. Daddy would be so proud.

Believe it or not, it was the nine year-old—a girl—who was the biggest problem. It took five of his men to restrain her and somehow, she even managed to kill his number three hired hand. Lingo bet the lump he put on her head would hurt all the way to hell where she belonged. F’n niggers. Always making more trouble than they’re worth.

Well, back to business.

"I’m looking for all paperwork and technical data regarding, Gisela," Lingo said plainly; clearly he wasn’t asking.

Raymond Thompson, never usually short of words, found it hard to speak with a thick noose around his neck that hung from a rafter in his barn, and a wobbling chair to balance himself on. He wouldn’t answer Lingo if he could. He was preoccupied with his wife hanging by his side—swinging lightly by the vibrations in the air and her lifeless body weight.

She didn’t have a chair to balance on anymore.

Neither did his mother to his left, or his two sons and eldest daughter; each swaying like rag dolls. The creaking sound of wood and rope—five creaks for each of his hung loved ones—echoed through his head.

Yes—he was definitely preoccupied.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a little bit more movement than expected. Not his mother—the first to go; God rest her soul. Not his wife; whom he promised to protect from all this—and failed. Neither his sons nor eldest daughter; it was his youngest—the hard-headed one of them all—she still lived. Not counting himself, Raymond gave his youngest daughter the best chance of survival.

Last time, Raymond. Answer me when I speak to you.

I wanna see… my daughter. Raymond choked, trying to hold on just a little longer.

Who’s in control here, Raymond? Lingo sneered.

I’ve… I’ve got nothing to lose. You want what’s mine… let me see my daughter.

Lingo stared at this black man’s audacity. Making demands like this—and he’s the one strung up like a nigger should be. Checking the time, he let this go on further than it had to. He nodded to Daniel, who understood each silent signal after four years of tireless service, and cut down the nine year-old. She fell to the floor, gasping for air.

Raymond peered at his daughter—watching her catch her breath—remembering how much he loved all his children, but found it hard to truly connect with this particular wild child. She was just born different: angry—volatile. Kind of like how he was in his youth. He thought it was funny how that kind of rage skipped three children and encoded his old, malcontented DNA on the last one.

The one that wasn’t necessarily planned either.

Raymond prayed as they dragged his last glimmer of hope to her feet; that all that inner bitterness she carried in her would hear him. And then he cried. Raymond cried because he loved his daughter and couldn’t waste his waning breath on too many words except one. In his mind, he prayed his greatest prayer. Not so much that God be with him or his little girl, but for once, the one person in the world who would never listen to him—hears him now.

Well? Lingo sighed, drawing a weapon from his finely tailored sports coat. He flicked lint off his shoulder, brushing the dust off his sleeves. The most important thought in his mind were potential dinner plans after his men discarded the bodies.

"Run!" Raymond said to his daughter. No—it was a psychic-level shout to her very soul and thank God. Thank you, Jesus!

She listened.

What happened next would be something Lingo Stein will recall upon fifteen years from now with shock and awe.

The day he ever gave credit to a nigger.

The spry little nine-year-old got the best of Daniel by first biting his hand. Naturally, he swung his free hand to knock some sense into her. She dodged to the floor, using his body weight to work against him and down they both went—tumbling into Raymond’s chair—and the dying in her father began.

If Raymond was going, he planned on giving his daughter one more clean break. Swinging his legs out with the last of his energy, he kicked Daniel squarely in the jaw—revenge for an earlier left hook to his eye—and clutched Lingo and his arrogant, white supremacy-ass, by his neck with the strength of his thigh muscles.

"Get this nigger off me!" he gasped, barely getting the words out. That was the time Raymond’s little girl needed. She was busy squaring off with a 4x4 piece of wood, trying to evade three of Lingo’s henchmen. Fortunately for her, Lingo’s men had been trained to protect the hand that fed them; running to their master’s aid on his first call. This gave the nine year-old a clear escape under a table, over some crates and away—sprinting out of the barn like a track star.

Run … baby girl… you run! Raymond gave a hoarse laugh, relaxing his grip on Lingo as his thugs carelessly beat on his hanging body.

The smile on his face only enraged Lingo further.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Before the life was choked out of him, the last thing he thought of as he watched his daughter creating a dust trail out into the Louisiana night, Now I know why we called you Butta’… you … so … smooth.

Chapter 1

Manhattan-New York City - Present Day … 2AM

"Gad-damn!" Steve would be no one of importance to remember except that he was one of the many millions of men on Earth—of all races and cultures—that agreed on one thing; this woman was exceptionally, drop-dead, stupid gorgeous. The kind of beauty that hurt; like when you were a kid, your friend had the brand new whatever and there was no way your parents were gonna get that for you anytime soon.

Yeah—that kind of hurt.

But men kept on trying to get at her anyway.

"Come ’ere, ma. Can I holla at chu a second?" Steve approached and she continued walking past both men. His friend knew well enough that this woman was out of his league—or just wasn’t in the mood—so he nodded in her direction.

Butta’ nodded back. She always respected a dude who didn’t act the fool in the street and who knew how to stay in his lane.

Steve saw the responding nod and was offended. So you gonna recognize my man and dis’ me?

Butta’ stopped, looking back tiredly. "Look, bruh, not tonight." and she moved on. Her simplistic gaze of seriousness said it all—forcing Steve to back off.

"Cool, a’ight," he said, leaving it alone.

However, the shape of Butta’s body had altered the thinking of many red-blooded men. Her hour-glass figure—even if concealed by a long, flowing trench coat—tended to transform men into wolves instantaneously. Followed by those hips and perfect rear-cheeks—Steve resolved that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Gathering up his nerve, he doubled back to catch up to her—ready to pitch his tightest, for ultra-special occasion game—but she was gone.

She wasn’t across the street or at any of the stores. It was two in the morning, and everything was closed. How did he lose the most phenomenal piece of gluteus maximus he had ever seen?

His partner sighed, shaking his head. She didn’t want you anyway.

"What?! You think she wanted you? Come on, man!"

As the two walked away, one more frustrated than the other, Butta’ watched them from above on the second floor ledge of the nearest building while tightening her climbing gloves. Actually, your partner was kinda cute—and respectful, she thought, reaching for another hand-hold, climbing upward. Not too many respectful men left out there.

This was the kind of work that kept Butta’ in shape. Cat burgling for over—God, has it been thirteen years already? She had climbed the best of them and delicately contorted her body around security for many years. Her healthy and ample chest had been a curse in her past capers—always getting in the way or attracting the wrong attention.

This early morning, the wind was gentle and she had forty-five flights to scale in two-hours. She was running a tad behind schedule for this little adventure, but there was no way she was going to miss the climatic conclusion. A long sought after prize awaited her on the forty-fifth floor. She could guarantee they weren’t going to let her stroll through the front door. Inside the building—from lobby up to the goal—were enough security and roaming, pistol-carrying guardsmen to wake the dead.

This evening’s adventure required her to circumvent the problem with a hands-on approach. All that computer hacking and security camera hocus-pocus would be left for another impossible mission. For Butta’, this one was personal and there would be no artificial ingredients.

No, that’s not true. She came with a gift of lead; a loaded Smith and Wesson 357 Magnum holstered under her trench. When you wanna make a hole, a little mag will do ya’, she thought as she reflected on her target.

At the 36th floor—an hour and a half into her climb, all the usual mental tricks she used to forget the aches and pains wore off and she was getting angry. She was pissed-off that the normally manageable Magnum now weighed a ton; pissed that the mofo in this very building was forcing her to go through all this trouble.

Finally, she was mad because she had to use the bathroom. She knew she’d never truly be an action hero; they never had to pee in the middle of a forty-five flight climb to avenge their families.

As much as she hated Lingo Stein, she couldn’t have top-scale hate for a man who made her who she was today. For thirteen years, all she did was track down, physically train and professionally steal to make enough money to nail this guy. If it weren’t for Lingo Stein, she might have had a normal life in some boarding school, talking to counselors about her anger issues.

Ironically, she planned to thank him.

Floor thirty-nine. Butta’ paused to get some feeling back into her finger tips, appreciating the fact that she had just enough rump to comfortably fit the ledge and anchor herself against an occasional blast of wind.

Heights never bothered her; not when bigger goals were set in her mind. She thought way back when she had to climb that damn tower in Taiwan—the Taipei 101—the world’s tallest building at the time… and fell.

When she told that story, people often asked, with their mouth’s wide open, how in the hell did you survive that?

Even now, looking back, she couldn’t confidently know if she would be able to pull off another faulty base jump—with no string attached—and live to tell the tale again. Usually, when she was about to explain what she called ‘desperate physics’, something interrupted her survival story.

Like now—floor forty-four; time to get her mind back in the game.

There were two buildings of interest to Butta’. She had scored the blueprints to Lingo Stein’s headquarters on Lexington and 38th street, where he rented out the top forty-five floors. The other was his master tower currently being built by the East River and expected to be completed in another two years.

That one was an expensive, high-tech vault. Lingo arrogantly poised the apex of his Stein Diamond Industries in the money capital of the world; conveniently hovering over the United Nations and wanted the world to know it.

That tower, when completed, expected to hold the core of Butta’s life purpose thus far—diamonds of unimaginable wealth. So, if she didn’t get at Stein now, it would take fifty action heroes to help her get what she wanted out of there later.

Tonight was perfect. Butta’ felt the planets and stars aligned themselves