Dead or Alive: The Reaper's Redemption

By Troy Pendleton and Charles Little, Jr

My name is Ray Mattax. I was trained to be a hitman known as the Reaper. I was the best at what I did but things eventually went sideways. By sheer force of will, I managed to get away and start over. Everything was great until my past caught up with me. They took my friend...That was a mistake! The Reaper is coming and nothing on earth can stand in my way!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troy Pendleton
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005614935

Troy Pendleton

I started writing when he was in seventh grade. With my overactive imagination, I wrote a short story for a class that was later printed in the local paper. It was the first thing in my life that I was extremely proud of. My teacher, Mrs. Scott, saw my talent and encouraged me to continue to write. I did just that for a couple of years but like most kids found interest in other things. After setting aside my love of writing and drawing as a teen, I returned to it as a young man and started writing stories and creating comic book characters. Using my children, loved ones, and friends as inspiration, I have created over a hundred characters and stories that I still hope to publish. I’ve always considered myself more of a creator than a writer, so I spent two decades looking for a collaborator and in 2017 I found not one but two people willing to write with me. After several collaborations with Charles Little Jr and Tammy Dale, I feel like he can finally write on my own. I am grateful for everything I have learned from them and others, and I set out to write the second and third novels in the Sheriff Carter Link series. I plan to continue on with the novels I have started along with creating new stories and characters. I also hope that someday I can help others with their dreams of becoming published authors.

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The Reaper's Redemption

Troy Pendleton

& Charles Little Jr

Self-Published by:

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2016 by New Legend Books & Comics

Cover Art © 2017 by New Legend Books & Comics

This book is a work of fiction. Names character, places, and incidents either are of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 9781522019565

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Ray Mattax

Chapter 2: Welcome to Canaan

Chapter 3: A New Start

Chapter 4: Sons Come Calling

Chapter 5: Reunion

Chapter 6: The Arms Dealer

Chapter 7: I Need a Plan

Chapter 8: Big, Dumb and Gullible

Chapter 9: The Battle Begins

Chapter 10: I’m Coming for You Piper

Chapter 11: The Sacrifice

Chapter 12: Aftermath

Chapter 13: The Journey Home

Chapter 14: The Letter

Request from Troy

Other Books by Troy

About Troy Pendleton

About Charles Little Jr.

Chapter 1: Ray Mattax

My name is Ray Mattax and today is the day that I die. I know that you are thinking this is a very morbid and gloomy way to start telling you my story but hear me out. I promise it will all make sense in the end. The events that ultimately led to my death started a little over 20 years ago when I was a young man. You see, I was 18 years old when I first joined the Sons of Diablo motorcycle club and I remember it like it was yesterday. There I stood in the middle of a group of monstrous and leather-clad men who were mostly covered with tattoos and beards. I have to say I was more than a little bit intimidated.

Standing by my side to welcome me into the brotherhood was the man who had sponsored me. His name was John Roberts but everyone called him Tiny. Despite his nickname, Tiny was a mountain of a man, every bit of six foot five inches tall and weighing a solid 290 pounds. That gave him about five inches and almost a full 100 pounds on me, so he was a giant in my eyes. Tiny always wore the leather and had a great beard that was dark as the night sky and came halfway down his chest. He rode a Harley chopper of course. In fact, I don’t think he ever owned a car.

He was just 17 years older than I was but had pretty much raised me ever since my old man, who was also a member of the Sons of Diablo, had passed away several years before. I thought of Tiny as a good man though I’m probably the only person on this Earth who did. To everyone else, he was a mean SOB but he always treated me well. Anyway, there I stood with Tiny in front of me. In his hands was my very own club vest. It was black leather and had a large demon head patch on the back with the words Sons of Diablo and Memphis Chapter stitched into it. Tiny slid the vest up my arms and the guys standing close around me helped get it in place. After it was adjusted they all took turns man hugging me and slapping me on the back. I couldn’t have been happier to be joining this wild group of brawling drunken potheads. They were rough, to say the least, but these men were all I had ever known. They were family. Tiny had a big influence on me back then, but he also went off and did his own thing a lot as well.

I spent the next few years running with the Son’s and let me tell you they were some hard years. I was a bit aimless during that period of my life and before long began to feel the first early stages of depression. As I look back on it now, that may have been brought on more by the constant violence, drinking, and drugs rather than any kind of emotional detachment. The Sons of Diablo would ride for days on end taking what they wanted and beating down or killing anyone who got in their way.

I remember one occasion when we came across another branch of the Diablo’s from Cali and thought they were a little too soft to carry the name. That didn’t sit well with us so we decided to invite their entire group to join us for a bonfire and encouraged them to camp overnight. After they were all drunk and passed out, we sliced their throats and disposed of the bodies in the river.

I have to admit, the brutality of it all was a bit too much for me at first. I didn’t see the need for being so ruthless all the time, especially to folks who really didn’t deserve it. I had always thought there must be smarter and safer ways to scare people into doing what you wanted, but I wasn’t the chapter president. We all knew that when you were a member of the Son’s you had to do what the Pres said if you wanted to remain a member. I wanted to stay with the club for two reasons. The lifestyle was all I had ever known, and I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

Not long after the incident involving the California Diablos went down a certain cop latched on to us like a dog does his favorite bone and he just would not let us be. If memory serves me right, his name was Detective Becker. It didn’t take long before his presence was wearing everyone’s patience dangerously thin. I was afraid Becker was going to find himself on the wrong end of someone’s knife or gun if he didn’t let up. I mean, yeah, he was annoying the crap out of us but at the end of the day, he was just doing his job. I’m sure any of us would have done the same thing if we were in his shoes.

Before anything unfortunate happened to the guy, I went to the fellas in charge of the club and told them I could take care of Detective Becker without killing him. I reminded them that killing a police officer was a lot different from taking out a bunch of bikers and that it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed he was missing and came sniffing around. It would be in our best interest to find a less violent way to get him off our tail in order to avoid any extra heat that we didn’t especially want or need.

As you might expect, they all laughed at the rookie who thought he was something but Hicks, the chapter president at the time, decided to let me give it a shot. He did warn me though that if I was caught or the whole thing went south, it would be my head on the pike along with the cop. I figured that was fair enough so I began to follow Becker for several days. I remember something that my old man had told me years before. It didn’t matter who you were, everyone had secrets and they would do almost anything to keep them that way. All an enterprising person had to do was find out what those secrets were and they would be granted a surprising amount of leverage.

Anyway, I took notes and several pictures of Becker’s every move. It didn’t take me very long to find out that he really had a thing for blondes even though his wife was a brunette. I counted three of them in as many days and had done a very nice job of documenting his carryings on. I was reasonably sure that I had enough dirt on him to get him to drop the Sons trail but I wanted a little more just in case.

Then it hit me…his kids. Detective Becker had two young daughters. I followed them everywhere they went for an entire week taking detailed notes and pictures. After that, I figured I had all that I needed to get him to leave the Sons alone. I then put my notes and pictures together into a nice little package and sent it to his office with the note Courtesy of the Sons of Diablo, Memphis Chapter. The next day Becker walked into the clubhouse fuming mad. He told Hicks that he was disgusted by the depths the Sons would go to in order to shake him off, especially getting his kids involved.

Hicks laughed at him and said that he didn’t know what in the world he was complaining about. Detective Becker then threw up his hands and said he was done. He wouldn’t be looking into us any more on the condition that we would just stay away from his kids. After that, I was known as a fixer and nobody treated me like a rookie anymore. You would think that would have made me happier but in reality, nothing much was different. I still felt like there had to be more to life than just riding around bullying people but I was afraid to change because I didn’t know how to do anything else.

Then a man named Piper came along and took me under his wing. He was only ten years older than I was so I looked up to him but also considered him more of a friend than an old guy. After we had gotten to know each other very well I found out that Piper was a hitman and called himself The Reaper. As far as I know, nobody but me had any idea about the hitman stuff or the identity of the Reaper, though it did make a lot of sense considering the vibe he always put off. You did NOT want to mess with him. No sir. Everyone who was anyone knew that.

Piper was a plain looking man of average height and had reddish blond hair. Unlike everyone else around the club, he was always clean-shaven and had no tats that couldn’t be covered by clothing. He said to be a good hitman you need to be able to blend in anywhere and face tats tend to make you stand out in a crowd. It wasn’t long before Piper started showing me the ropes, we began to do hits together and it seemed to be a great job. I know you must be thinking, That’s not a job but to me, it’s exactly what it was and nothing more. At first, I had reservations about doing it but after knocking off a few marks, it didn't bother me so much anymore. These weren’t just random everyday people. You didn’t wind up on the hit list for no reason. In most cases, you had to cross someone the wrong way, which was your own fault, or you were a seriously bad person.

I followed Piper’s lead to a T and soon we were an unstoppable team. I learned so much about how to disable alarm systems, different computer hacking techniques, what gun to use for any given range or shooting condition and most importantly never to turn down a job. If you did, you then became a liability and the clients would soon be putting out a hit on you. Speaking of jobs they came pouring in one right after the other. It didn’t take long before everyone in the underworld knew that if you needed someone offed effectively and efficiently you called in The Reaper.

I could hardly believe how easy it was. People would wire us the money to our offshore account and then someone would die. You know there are many ways to kill a person and everyone has their favorites. I personally just liked to put two in them and get it over with. Piper, on the other hand, liked it up close and personal. Some customers wanted the job to look like an accident and some wanted to send a message and didn’t care what it looked like as long as it got their point across.

We didn’t care either as long as we got paid and man did we ever get paid! Thousands and thousands of dollars kept pouring in. We even took overseas jobs because they brought a much higher premium. The Reaper was an internationally known killing superstar and our identities always remained secret. We used the cash to buy houses, businesses, bikes, drugs, booze, girls and even cars. We were literally rolling in the dough though 95 percent of it was dirty as can be. Back then we owned three strip clubs and four bars just to launder all of the money we collected.

Tiny was the only person other than me and Piper who knew the identity of the Reaper. He didn’t mind me doing the jobs but killing for fun was more his thing so he never got involved with us. I’m pretty sure Piper would have let him in on it if he had wanted to. Tiny did like the perks of being my friend though. I took care of him just like he had always taken care of me when I needed it. Whatever he desired he got.

After about ten years of a solid partnership, Piper said he was ready to call it quits. He was pushing 40 and just wanted to relax and enjoy the money. I wasn’t quite 30 yet and still felt that I had a lot of time left to play the role of the Reaper. I was honestly having too much fun to even think about stopping. There was still plenty of things for Piper to do to keep himself busy. Everything we had bought to launder the money turned a profit on top of what we already had. It was more than enough to last a person two or three lifetimes.

Piper knew that the life we led wasn’t something you normally were able to walk away from but since there were two of us it gave him an easy out. He could leave while I kept on working and no one would be the wiser. He turned the business of the Reaper over to me with the agreement that I could still launder the profits through our other ventures and I officially became a one-man show. Piper ran our other companies and eventually with Tiny’s help became the president of the Memphis chapter of the Son’s of Diablo.

I did very well for myself as the demand for high stakes contract killing hadn’t slowed down a bit. As a matter of fact, it was increasing at a pretty steady rate. I would get a message on my dark email with information regarding my target and a deposit in the offshore account. Once the money was in place I’d execute the perfect plan and then take out the person I was being paid to eliminate. Everything had been going great for about three and a half years until I received a message one night that contained Piper’s picture.

Rule number one was never to turn down a job, and this was a job. I knew what I had to do. It was now up to me to take Piper out. Nothing personal, you can’t ever bring personal feelings with you while working as a hitman. You had to turn all that stuff in your brain off. This was just business pure and simple. I know that might sound cliché but it’s the truth.

I really wanted to talk to Tiny about the whole situation so I could get his input but no one had seen him in weeks and he wasn’t returning any of my calls or texts either. I was a little worried about him but as I said before he had a habit of going off and doing his own thing, sometimes getting all wound up and just riding around aimlessly for weeks at a time. I had bigger fish to fry though, and neither had the time nor the energy to go tracking Tiny down just so we could discuss what I should do about this job, especially since I already had a feeling I knew what his answer would be. Tiny would turn up eventually. He always did.

Besides, Piper and I had gone over the possibility of a situation like this coming up more than once over the years, especially in the days just before I took over the role of the Reaper on my own. He said there would be a time when someone I knew would have a hit put out on them. It was simply the law of averages. I knew a lot of people. Piper's answer was always that work comes first, friends and family second.

I was finding out the hard way that talking about something and actually going through it are two completely different things. I couldn’t believe that I was actually debating with myself about whether or not