From Death to Life

By Rollin Flynte

Zorrick Lassiter, the main character, has a life altering confrontation with a vampire while searching for a missing friend in an abandoned New York tenement building. Upon his return back to life three nights after he was bitten and killed during his encounter with the night stalker, he begins a night of wondrous discovery until he discovers the cursed side of a vampire; sunlight.
During the course of his new existence, Zorrick enlists the aid of a forensic pathologist who has had previous experience with creatures such as himself and who might have a means for reversing his hellish new existence.
Zorrick must also stay one step ahead of a street savvy police detective who is hot on his trail along with the all of the NYPD as well.
In the face of all of this, Zorrick must control his dreadful appetite for human blood for the next week after he is first bitten or he will give himself fully to the eternally dark existence of a blood thirsty night stalker. The doctor has only that small amount of days to perfect a way to reverse this condition or he will lose his friend.
Zorrick has one final encounter with the vampire that first turned him. And Zorrick has only the short span of seven days (or nights) to try regain his humanity while battling the darkness which threatens to consume him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483623900

Rollin Flynte

n/a

Book preview

FROM DEATH TO LIFE

ROLLIN FLYNTE (PSEUDONYM)

CHARLES C. BRIGGS (REAL NAME)

Copyright © 2013 by Rollin Flynte.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Rev. date: 04/13/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

129825

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

The sub-basement was Zorrick’s favorite place to be in his recently inherited tenement building. He discovered the sub-basement quite by accident, while doing some minor home repairs in he which now calls the regular basement.

Zorrick went to the heavy steel cabinet at the rear of the basement to get some tools for his repair work. As he took a wrench and a small length of pipe from the cabinet, he dropped the pipe and watched in mild frustration as it rolled beneath the metal tool cabinet. Zorrick knelt down and tried to reach the pipe but the metal cabinet was fairly wide. This made the pipe harder to reach; even for someone with his long arms.

In growing frustration, Zorrick quickly stood, grabbed the cabinet by one corner and tried to move it away from the wall. It hardly budged. He tried moving it again, pulling even harder. It still wouldn’t move. Now, almost forgetting about the pipe and giving in to full blown anger over the stubborn cabinet, Zorrick gave one good hard yank and pulled it away from the wall.

What happened next caught Zorrick totally by surprise. Rather than just moving from the wall, the cabinet, with a section of the floor swung away to reveal a large hole cut into the wall.

Zorrick cautiously moved toward the opening. Anger was replaced by curiosity. He reached around the front of the cabinet, grabbing a flashlight, turned back toward the opening, shining his light into the gaping darkness. Directly in front of him, leading down into the darkness, was a wooden staircase.

With his curiosity now fully aroused, Zorrick cautiously descended the stairs into the inky, claustrophobic darkness. The flashlight was his only company. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he quickly scanned the immediate area to get his bearings. He anxiously looked back up the stairs to the opening but fought down his apprehension. Besides the flashlight, the only illumination was the faint light coming from the basement above.

Zorrick again swept the flashlight back and forth, trying to get some idea of what he stepped into when noticed the light switch on the wall to his left. Not really expecting the switch to work, Zorrick turned it on anyway. He stiffened when the tunnel was suddenly bathed in light.

Whistling softly to himself, he gazed at what was laid out before him. He was standing at one end of a tunnel. The floor was hard packed earth. In fact, the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were earthen as well. The walls were supported by heavy pieces of lumber (resembling railroad ties) placed about ten feet apart. Lighting for the tunnel was provided by five ceiling lamps also spaced ten feet apart. On the right side of the sub-basement were two steel doors. On the left side was one large, sliding metal door. Along the same wall was a wooden ramp supported three feet above the floor by wooden beams. This ramp ran the length of the sub-basement with a small section folded up in front of the large door to give access to that room. At Zorrick’s end of the tunnel was wooden dolly which sat on the ramp.

Zorrick took in as much detail as he could handle. Even so, finding something like this underneath his building was quite a shock. Quietly moving towards the first door on his right, he caught himself walking on the balls of his feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. Zorrick silently chided himself for being so wary, seeing as there was no one down there with him anyway. He hoped.

He gave one good hard pull on the door, half expecting the same kind of struggle he had with the cabinet. Instead, the door swung open with such ease that he was pulled off balance and almost fell to the floor. After regaining his balance, he stepped inside. He turned on the flashlight and surveyed the room. As he looked around, he noticed another light switch located on the left wall near the entrance of the room. Zorrick flipped the switch and this time wasn’t as surprised when the light came on.

The room was about six feet wide with a ceiling height equivalent to the tunnel ceiling. It appeared to be about ten feet in length. Actually, the true dimensions of the room were hard to determine because it was full of wooden crates, stacked from floor to ceiling. There was a small step ladder near the rear of the room. Zorrick took the ladder, propped it against a stack of boxes and climbed to the top. He removed one of the crates and carefully climbed back down.

He knelt down and pried open the lid of the crate with his pen knife. He removed the straw packing material and uncovered a dozen bottles of… liquor?! The bottles were not labeled, nor did they have any tariff stickers on the caps. For a few seconds, all he could do was stare into the crate. Zorrick opened another crate and found it packed with more bottles of liquor.

After examining still another crate, Zorrick realized that there must have been enough booze in this room to inebriate the whole neighborhood. Although he wasn’t a drinking man, Zorrick couldn’t help but to open one of the bottles and take a small sip. The stuff wasn’t half bad. It had very little bite and went down real smooth. He capped the bottle and put it back in the crate, then moved on to the next room.

Once he got to the other room, Zorrick was careful not to pull too hard on the door. There was a slight creaking sound in the hinges but the door opened easily. Zorrick looked to his left and found another light switch. He flipped the switch and room instantly lit up. This room was slightly smaller than the liquor storeroom but was almost filled to capacity with cardboard boxes and footlockers.

By now, Zorrick was almost beside himself with anticipation. He wondered, I found old bottles of liquor in the other room, what will I find in here? Well, I’m not getting any younger thinking about it. Let’s see what we shall see. Zorrick reached for a small cardboard box and opened it to find it full of diaries bound in red leather. The box had been sealed so carefully that the diaries were in perfect condition. He opened the top diary and began to read. The first entry was dated March 17, 1923.

The entry was made by a women named Rosa Torpelli. This particular entry was about how she had seduced one of the highest ranking officials in the police commissioner’s office. She went on to brag about how this was just another big fish she had reeled into her hip pocket.

Zorrick put down that particular journal and started reading from another one. The first entry in the second journal had to do with how this Torpelli women had someone’s knees shattered for not making good on a loan. Zorrick muttered to himself, Evidently, this Rosa Torpelli was one bad heifer to mess with. Hm, what other goodies did she leave in these boxes? After looking through some other boxes, Zorrick found that she did indeed leave other goodies.

In the other boxes were more leather bound journals as well as ledgers listing the names of people who had taken payoffs; been caught in compromising situations, and the people on Rosa Torpelli’s payroll, from the rookie cop walking a beat to some of the most powerful men in city government at that time. This room was a treasure chest of names, dates, and places of incredible criminal activity.

Zorrick decided that he would get into a serious study of the journals and ledgers as soon as he could spare the time. He resealed the boxes, then left the room.

Now to check out door number three. He felt like he was on the game show Let’s Make a Deal. Zorrick could almost hear Monty Hall saying, Zorrick Lassiter, you’ve seen what’s behind doors one and two. What do you think is behind door number three? God only knows, thought Zorrick. Probably the jackpot.

He stepped across the tunnel and reached for the large sliding metal door. Zorrick expected a tug-of-war with this door because of it’s size. It took a little more effort than the first two doors but this one opened easily enough.

By now, Zorrick tried to be ready for anything while checking out this mysterious tunnel. Still, he wasn’t ready for what awaited him behind door number three. He automatically reached to his left for the light switch. Whoever built this place must’ve been left handed.

After Zorrick flicked the switch, he stood in the doorway, speechless. This room was huge. The length of it was comparable to the length of the tunnel. The ceiling was several feet higher than the other two rooms. To his right, at the end of the room, was a target range. The wall was riddled with thousands of bullet holes. About five yards from the wall were four paper silhouette targets, all of which had been used. Twenty feet in front of the target was a white chalk line where the people stood while shooting at their targets.

Zorrick looked to his left and saw rows of bulky wooden crates stacked about eight feet high. He almost ran to the stack of crates, barely containing his excitement. He found another step ladder leaning against some boxes just like in the other room. Zorrick positioned the ladder then carefully climbed to the top of the stack and removed one of the heavy crates. Once he got down, he worked on the lid with his penknife. He was so anxious to see what was inside, that he virtually ripped the lid off the crate. What he found inside surprised him so much that he actually gasped. The crate was filled with antique thirty eight caliber revolvers. Although the guns were old, they appeared to be in mint condition.

Zorrick, being a gun buff, was happier than a kid in a candy store with a pocketful of change. He gently, almost lovingly, picked up one of the guns and meticulously examined it. Then he reached into the crate and took out a handwritten invoice for the shipment. These pistols were delivered to Rosa Torpelli over sixty years ago. Zorrick set the gun aside. There were other boxes to explore. He opened three more crates and found more handguns.

Just when he thought he couldn’t be surprised by anything else in this strange place, Zorrick opened a fourth box. Placed in an upright position inside the crate, were four mint condition Thompson sub-machine guns. For a moment, all Zorrick could do was stare at the contents of the crate. He then reached down and picked up one of the guns. The weapon was beautiful. It’s wooden stock showed no signs of wear or deterioration. The metal was clean with no signs of pitting or rust. In fact, there was nothing wrong with the firearm at all. He slid the ammo drum out of the gun and found it fully loaded.

After reinserting the drum, Zorrick walked to the white line and aimed at one of the silhouette targets. He held his breath, squinted his eyes, then slowly squeezed the trigger. The sound was deafening. He only fired a short burst. The sound of the weapon was so loud and unexpected that Zorrick almost dropped it.

He looked down range at the target, to view the damage. Even though his eyes were nearly closed when he fired the gun, Zorrick still managed to control the vibration of the weapon and hit the target. He fired off a stitch of bullets across the midsection of the silhouette. Had that been a man standing there, he would’ve been cut in half like a sapling. In awe, Zorrick looked at the machine gun in his hands, then he gingerly placed it back in it’s crate.

Within minutes, Zorrick had examined several other large crates and found more sub-machine guns. According to another handwritten invoice, these firearms were delivered the same day as the boxes of handguns. Some of the other boxes contained pre-world war two, forty five caliber automatic pistols. If Zorrick were a dog, he would salivate all over this fantastic find. All his life, he wanted to own a firearm like the ones used in the Untouchables. Now he had a room full of them. He didn’t hit the jackpot behind door number three, he hit the motherlode. There were enough small arms in that room to equip a guerilla army in Central America; complete with all the ammo they would need.

Once Zorrick got over his excitement from finding the weapons, he stood back and took in the other details of the room. It was soundproof, which was a prudent move on the part of whoever dug this place out. It wouldn’t do for the neighbors to hear the sound of bad guys having target practice.

At the wall directly across from the room entrance, it looked as if a slab had been cut right out of the wall. The slab was long and wide enough to accommodate a full size man if he chose to lay down on it.

A few feet to one side of the slab was an area that apparently was used as a workshop, complete with a drill press, work bench, and assorted tools. There was also an outfit for reloading ammunition. Paperwork, illegal booze, and guns galore; Zorrick had inadvertently stumbled into a veritable museum of crime from the prohibition area.

Zorrick left the range room and stepped back into the tunnel. He walked it’s full length from the opposite end of his basement entrance. He looked up and saw two access points into the tunnel. The first, was a hatch in the ceiling with a wooden ramp that angled down into the tunnel. The other access point had a ladder that extended from a manhole cover in the ceiling down to the earthen floor. Zorrick climbed the metal ladder until he reached the manhole cover. It took a good deal of effort, but he managed to lift it. He raised it just far enough to peek through the thin slit between the cover and the lip of the hole.

The tunnel access ways lead up to an alley in the back of Zorrick’s building. The hatch over the wooden ramp was situated next to the manhole cover and it was made to look like a power company utility hatch. He continue to peer out of the hole and noticed his frumpy next door neighbor putting out her trash. Zorrick peeked out of the other side of the manhole and watched two alley cats getting ready to square off in a turf battle. He quietly lowered the manhole cover and climbed down the ladder. Zorrick stood at the foot of the ladder and took a good long look at his amazing discovery. Being in this place was almost like taking a step back in time. All this under his building. He wondered if his grandmother knew about the existence of sub-basement. She probably didn’t because there was no mention of it in her will.

Not that he blamed her. Zorrick considered what would happen if he told the wrong person about the unique discovery under his building. It would become a three ring circus. Everyone from the press to the FBI would be crawling all over this place like ants. No, Zorrick would keep his subterranean hideout to himself. Besides the need for peace of mind in keeping this place a secret, he was also motivated by plain, old fashioned selfishness.

Maybe, after reading the ledgers, journals, and inventorying the weapons, he would simply turn the sub-basement into an underground tourist attraction. Until then, the sub-basement would be for this edification; his home beneath his home.

End of Prologue

CHAPTER 1

Friday, October 31

In the six months since his initial discovery, Zorrick made continuous trips into the sub-basement. He studied the ledgers and diaries with the diligence of a religious scholar. He also found old pictures, birth certificates, and other family documents and artifacts from the Torpellis. According to the journals written in her own hand, Rosa Torpelli began her crime career during her father’s long illness. The old man suffered a stroke and languished for months. During that time, Rosa, behind the scenes, ran the family business. Her one brother was more in the priesthood. Her youngest brother didn’t have the stomach for the dirtier aspects of running a crime family. Besides her business acumen, Rosa Torpelli had a mean streak about her that easily rivaled that of any man in the New York crime scene. It was nothing for her to have someone’s knees broken, or have them buried in the East River.

As skillful and iron fisted as she was at running the family business, her biggest asset was her physical attributes. According to some of the pictures, Rosa Torpelli was a strikingly beautiful women. Her waist length dark hair was her crowning glory. Her features were almost classic Mediterranean. If the pictures were accurate, then she must have been a tall woman, almost as tall if not taller than the men she stood next to in the photos. When it came to trapping some of New York’s more prominent men in her web, her looks and graceful figure were just another tool, in building one of the most successful crime families on the east coast. Whatever entrapment she didn’t accomplish on her own, she accomplished with her prostitution rings scattered throughout the city. Before she was through, Rosa Torpelli had men from the rookie copy on the beat, to people in the police commissioner’s office in her hip pocket or on her payroll.

The tenement building had as much history as its’ criminal owners. Zorrick’s building was one of several safe houses scattered all over the city.

Each house had it’s own sub-basement, which was used for the storage of weapons, bootleg liquor, records, etc. This particular building was Rosa Torpelli’s main place of residence. The Greenwich Village residence was just close enough to Little Italy for Rosa to keep close contact with relatives and friends, yet just fare enough removed to keep them safe from the more violent aspects of her criminal activities. The building was used for some of the most swinging parties of the time, with a good deal of high society involved. There was illegal gambling and enough bootleg whiskey to drown most of downtown Manhattan. This tenement building was Rosa’s home right up until the time of her death in 1963.

From the point on, it wasn’t hard for Zorrick to figure the succession of owners, based on documents in his grandmother’s files. After Rosa Torpelli’s death, her family sold the building to a group of wealthy businessmen, who in turn sold it to some hippie group to use it for, (what they considered) an inner city commune.

In the seventies, the hippies sold the building when their utopian plans for the place went sour. After another succession of owners, Zorrick’s grandparents took over possession of the place near the end of the seventies.

Zorrick’s grandparents were the merchants and business people in the family. They build their enterprises from meager beginnings in Harlem and Bedford Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. They soon branched out into the other burroughs of the city. Their eateries, barbershops, and corner stores were the mainstay of their holdings. Buying the Greenwich Village tenement building was a radical departure from their usual business dealings.

Zorrick’s parents, on the other hand, were not business minded. His father was deeply involved in the ministry. His mother reluctantly and grudgingly supported her husband’s work. Zorrick and his brother David, had interests that were even more divergent than their parents and grandparents. David was in the military, while Zorrick had an interest in criminal justice. All of them went their separate ways, pursuing separate fields.

His parents were in line for any inheritance, but both were killed in a car accident several years ago. Zorrick’s grandfather died a few years later.

At the time of his grandmother’s passing, David was in Okinawa with the Navy, so he really didn’t have the time or desire to take ownership of a tenement building with his brother. Zorrick bought out David’s half of the building then took over controlling interest of the other business. Several months after his grandmother’s death, he sold the other business for a clear profit. All of this new money left Zorrick quite comfortable, financially, for the first time in his life.

Zorrick was so comfortable in fact, that he decided to take a vacation for the first time in two years. His hours in juvenile probation were long and hard. His case load was relentless. Some time off was just what the doctor ordered.

He got in contact with two of his friends and the three of them reserved a cabin on the northwest shore of Greenwood Lake. The twenty mile lake, spanned the Upstate New York-New Jersey border in perpendicular fashion. It was known in the area for having the best trout fishing during the autumn months. Zorrick hadn’t baited a hook in years. The more he thought about his time off, the more excited he got.

His vacation plan was simple. He would spend the first five days of his ten day vacation on the lake. The last five days would be spent visiting friends in the city. He was looking forward to seeing people he hadn’t seen in months, or even years!

Zorrick decided to take his vacation in late October-early November. There wouldn’t be as much of a fight for the time off like there was for the summer months and the Thanksgiving-Christmas holidays. Even though he would never admit this to some of his more macho friends and co-workers, he liked this time of year because of the beauty in the changing of the seasons. Greenwood Lake was particularly beautiful this time of the year, with the spectacular colors and subtle smells of autumn.

Rather than start his vacation at the beginning of the week, Zorrick decided to start it on Friday, which was Halloween. That gave him a chance to clean up any loose ends from his case load before leaving it with a co-worker.

He started his day going through, what he now called the record room, in the sub-basement. Among the things he wanted to pack for his trip, was one of the ledgers and one of Rosa Torpelli’s diaries.

This woman’s journals made for some really salacious reading. Her appetite for men was rapacious. She was involved with all those men not only for their influence, but also for the sheer pleasure of it. If someone ever decided to make a movie of Rosa Torpelli’s life, it would have be X rated.

Zorrick spent the better part of that morning doing some last minute shopping for fishing gear and anything else he felt he would need for his trip to the lake. After running his errands, he watched some television before he began packing. He was almost glad he normally wasn’t home during the day, considering what was on daytime television.

Early that afternoon, he finished packing. Rather than settle down to more appalling soap operas, he decided to go down the street to shoot a few games of pool, something else he hadn’t done in several months. Already this vacation was showing Zorrick just how much he had allowed his work to drain away some of the simple pleasures of life. Even the dubious pleasure of watching bad daytime television. He made a promise to himself to be a man of a little less work and a little more play.

Later that afternoon, Zorrick hurried home from the pool hall mostly to get out of the unseasonable cold weather, but also to just get some early shut eye before making the morning trip up to the lake.

Once he took care of some last minute loose ends, Zorrick finally began to relax. He walked to the front of his apartment and opened up the window for a breath of fresh air; if such a thing can be found in New York. Although it was freezing outside, Zorrick noticed that the cold weather didn’t deter a large gang of kids, dressed in their Halloween costumes, from doing the trick or treat routine. The blustery weather didn’t seem to affect the kids but it was obvious that the mothers who accompanied them weren’t as resilient. Zorrick couldn’t help but have a certain degree of respect for those kids. As nippy as it was, they were still out there dragging their mothers along, while they collected their sugary loot from the neighbors. One of the advantages of living on the top floor of his tenement building was the overall view of the neighborhood.

Zorrick watched the children scurry all over the street, like ants at a picnic. The cold was getting to be too much, so he quickly pulled himself back inside, slamming the window shut.

He started a fire in the small fireplace he had installed in his living room, as well as in other apartments on the upper three floors. This was another gimmick to attract a more up scale clientele. Once he got a good blaze going, Zorrick looked at the pictures on the mantle of the fireplace. There was a picture of his parents and grandparents posing together. There was also a snapshot of his brother in his Navy uniform. Then there were pictures of two people who have come to mean a great deal to Zorrick within the past few years. One of the photos was of Zorrick posing with a young Puerto Rican by the name of Julio Dominguez. The picture next to it was of Julio and his sister, Mecrina.

Julio and his sister were of combined parentage, black father and a Puerto Rican mother. Julio had the dark, good looks of a latin lover while his sister had more of a dark but pretty girl next door kind of look. She had shoulder length jet black hair soft brown almond shaped eyes that could grab a man’s attention and hold it without making him feel self conscious.

Zorrick met them two years ago, more or less as just another case with the Juvenile Probation department. Julio had just gotten busted for selling drugs, crack to be exact. It was his first offense. Zorrick was given Julio’s case. As with many teens from the inner city, Julio was a cocky, brash kid, with more bravado than good sense. Still, this was more of a front, as is typical with many kids living in tough neighborhoods.

Zorrick reluctantly took Julio under his wing. The first thing he had to do was get the young man involved with a different group of friends other than his drug dealing buddies. So he got the kid involved in martial arts for physical activity and got him a job working in a food store after school. Zorrick had fifteen years of Taekwondo training. At first, he expected to meet with some resistance, but the kid took to the martial arts training like a duck to water.

The discipline helped reinforce Zorrick’s efforts to get Julio away from drugs. Julio not only sold crack, but was also a user. Drug counseling and karate training, the loving support of his sister, and the after school job helped to produce remarkable results. Still, Zorrick had to be realistic. The chance of a relapse was still quite high, but with each day that passed without drugs in Julio’s life, the chance of a relapse decreased appreciably. Over the following weeks and months of Julio’s rehabilitation, the two of them became fast friends. Actually, more than friends, almost brothers.

Park of the reason for their male bonding was due to Zorrick taking a personal interest, not only in Julio’s drug treatment, but also in the martial arts training. As Julio began fighting in tournaments, Zorrick worked his corner. In the two years that Julio was involved in tournament fighting, he had built up a record of 15 wins and 2 defeats.

Besides the taekwondo, Zorrick also gave Julio some basic instruction in fishing. He remembered the surprising conversation they had while fishing the East River. Zorrick had just cast his line then sat down to patiently wait for a bite from a greedy fish.

Without warning, Julio casually asked Hey bro, you dig my sister, don’t you?

The question startled Zorrick but he tried his best not to react. He sheepishly looked at the murky river and stammered out, Uh, what ever gave you an idea like that?

Julio said, Hey, I see the way you look at her when you think no one is watching. Look bro’, if she wasn’t my sister, I would be tempted to try something myself.

Zorrick was beginning to collect his wits. Is it that obvious? he asked.

Julio could sense Zorrick’s discomfort yet pressed on. Oh hell yes, it’s that obvious. What do you think, that I’m blind? Of course, Mecrina also noticed it, but don’t worry. I think she digs you too. She asks about you sometimes, then tries to cover it up with some lame excuse about wanting to know how you are doing.

That last line got Zorrick’s attention but he still tried to remain inscrutable, though, without much success. He carefully asked, I thought you were very protective of your sister? What makes you think that I would be any different than any other man out there?

Julio suddenly got very serious. He looked Zorrick squarely in the eye and said, Because I know you, bro’. I’ve never really allowed myself to get close to anyone but my sister. I mean, I’ve got my street partners but all I ever did wit’ them was get into all kinds of hot water. But you’re different. I know you would be good for my sister just like you been good for me. I trust you, man.

Zorrick was deeply moved, but again didn’t allow his emotions to show. Nevertheless, Julio was perceptive and knew he had reached Zorrick right where he lived.

There were other instances in which the two of them shared some of their deeper feelings of friendship for each other. Including the time when Zorrick finally stopped trying to hide his feelings for Mecrina and openly admitted them to Julio. The hard part was admitting them to Mecrina.

As Zorrick looked at the pictures on the mantle, he realized that he never did confess his feelings to Julio’s sister for fear of rejection. Zorrick was something of a womanizer, so these feelings of inadequacy were new to him. His mother once told him that the one woman that caused him to lose that cockiness within himself, would be the one woman that he would probably end up marrying. He was beginning to think his mother was right. In the two few years that he had known Mecrina and Julio, he never once made a move to get to Mecrina.

He took one last glance at the pictures on the mantle and made a sincere promise to himself to make Mecrina and Julio the first two people he visited once he returned from Greenwood Lake.

Zorrick yawned and stretched, then headed to the bathroom for a shower and afterward some well deserved rest. After he got undressed, he carefully checked himself out in the mirror. He had strong African-American features with good, clear skin, that resemble the rich, deep color of mahogany. The heavily muscled torso was supported by powerful legs. Even though the midsection was no longer defined, that area of his body was still flat and taut. His upper body was capped by a thick strong set of shoulders and a set of heavily muscled arms. His physique was the product of years of weight training and martial arts discipline.

While looking at himself in the mirror, Zorrick couldn’t help but think, Not bad for a thirty four year old man with a bum knee and a few years past his fighting prime.

The bum knee was the result of a motorcycle accident, cutting short a promising kickboxing career. One in which he almost fought for the world title. He had already beaten all of the ranked fighters in the United States and Europe. His next fight was to be held in Tokyo for the world title. But fate or Providence and a slick road had other ideas.

As Zorrick looked at the ragged scar over his left knee, he quickly cut short any memories of past glories and got in the shower. Afterwards, he climbed into his favorite pajamas and went out to the living room to find a good book, to read himself to sleep. While reaching for a Tom Clancy novel on the top shelf of the bookcase, his eyes strayed over to his trophy case which contained forty five trophies and some twenty plaques form his karate tournaments and kickboxing matches. He again cut off any more trips down memory land with all of it’s bittersweet memories.

He went back into the bedroom with his novel, set the alarm clock for three AM, then settled down for serious reading. Even though the novel made enjoyable reading, Zorrick found it hard to keep his eyes open. Within minutes, he was in a deep, restful