IA: Invincible Assassin: IA, #2.5

By John Darryl Winston

The only thing worse than having nothing to live for is having nothing to lose

When tragedy strikes his best friend, Harvis Young knows there will be a reckoning, especially since Naz Andersen possesses the supernatural powers of a god.

Now it's up to Harvis to save the guilty from Naz's wrath. Beyond the mean streets of Marshal Park, Harvis will discover a darker path than anything he's ever seen. His friend may not have the only soul that needs saving.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BHC Press/H2O
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781947727878

Book preview

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Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.

IA: INVINCIBLE ASSASSIN

Copyright © 2018 John Darryl Winston

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by BHC Press

under the H2O imprint

Library of Congress Control Number:

2018946367

Softcover ISBN: 978-1-947727-70-0

Ebook ISBN:       978-1-947727-87-8

Visit the publisher at:

www.bhcpress.com

8075219706

My all, my everything, Dominique Wilson

My fab editor, Allison Maruska

My persistent publishers, BHC Press

To Johnnie Winston

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Present Day …

Is death white or black or any color at all?

Or maybe scarlet like blood, the true elixir of life?

I watch the thick liquid drip from the crumbling wall

While the slime in my grasp prepares to die.

Two boys have just brought down a gang in an abandoned, dank, musty space once called a Market Merchant store. And now the final search for answers has taken one of them to an even darker place. Puffs of air escape the lungs of those in attendance and disappear long before they reach the many broken lights above them.

You’re gonna admit everything you did, or I’m gonna finish what I started, right here and now, threatens Naz, standing over a defeated gang leader.

Harvis understands Naz’s meaning as he kneels next to the fallen thug. He opens the voice recorder app on his watch and then taps the red button. He nods to Naz, indicating he is ready for the confession. Other gang members litter the floor in pain, consciously observing but too afraid to move.

You can start whenever you’re ready, Harvis says, eyeing the thug.

The two stand in judgment, feeling nothing for this scum who has just taken the life of an innocent lady.

I’m not sayin’ nothin’. The gang leader trembles.

Harvis looks back up at Naz and nods. Naz flexes his mind. The thug grabs his throat. His eyes go wide as he struggles to breathe. He reaches for Harvis’ arm only to have Harvis punch it away violently.

You better talk; I won’t be able to stop him soon. Harvis laughs.

Finally, the fallen thug concedes, mouthing the word, OK.

But it’s too late.

Harvis toys with him a bit, not able to help himself. I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you. He moves a little closer, turning sideways as if that will help. Something catches Harvis’ eye. He asks Naz to release the thug, and Naz complies. Harvis has words with the gang leader, and before long, with two fingers to the neck, he applies pressure to the thug’s carotid artery, robbing the gang leader of blood flow to his brain. Harvis is enjoying this, life seeping away from the undeserving. Now, you will die. The gang leader fades.

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Four months earlier …

Wh at do you do when your best friend’s kid sister is murdered, his only sister? You dream, or at least you try. And you keep waking up all night long, dreading the next day’s funeral. Back and forth, fully awake and half asleep you go, falling out of the dream and back into the nightmare of the real world. That’s me right now.

I clutch my pillow and wrap it around my head, hoping to block out the world that has snatched me from my preferred reality. I was flying high over white clouds with nothing but blue skies overhead. I had hoped to surprise my mother in Beijing. I wonder how fast I was flying, how long it would’ve taken me to get there. She’s coming home next week, just before Christmas. A voice somewhere between a trumpet and a tuba rips through.

Attention, Harvis!

Dad… I start to pound my fist into the pillow but catch myself. "Do we have to do this every morning?"

The General’s voice comes muffled through my closed door. Sleep is for the weak, and dedication—

Is not the adversary of accomplishment … I know! I roll out of bed, landing on the floor straight into push-up position. Give me a break, I finish under my breath.

I stopped counting my push-ups a long time ago. The goal is to do as many as I can until I run out of gas, so I crank out push-up after push-up, my body at work while my mind contemplates a different challenge. How can I help my friend, and what would that look like? I have no idea what Naz is going through, and I won’t pretend. I just need to be there, but how? Meri was all Naz had. And now that she’s gone, I’m sure he feels he has nothing to live for, or worse, nothing to lose.

I grunt and collapse onto the floor. I immediately turn over and maneuver to position my feet under the bed, and push-ups become sit-ups. A poster of Bruce Lee watches over my bed.

The General knocks on the door. For all the power my dad possesses, he respects my privacy without exception, which is cool. Although I don’t think he’d ever admit it. Just his way, I guess. Before I think too much about it, I prevent a smile from forming.

Come! I grunt as my forearms hit my quads, and I return to the resting position.

The General enters and stands in silence until I finish my sit-ups. I go longer than I think I can, feeling a sense of power in making him wait. But then I become uncomfortable with my father’s unwavering presence and eventually lose the battle of patience.

Good morning, Dad. I stand and then slowly elevate on my toes, so I can almost be eye to eye with him. What’s up?

Never missing a thing, he looks at my feet. Good morning, Son … fourteen next month. You’ll get there, soon enough. We’re leaving at 0800 hours, which gives you approximately fifty-seven minutes to get ready. He looks over his shoulder at my suit hanging on the closet door. Bring your overcoat; a storm is coming, the first of the winter.

It’s one of the rare times I don’t see him in full uniform dress blues. He wears a beige polo shirt with dark brown dress pants. The General never enters my room with his dress blues on, I think because he doesn’t want me to have to rise and salute him in my own bedroom—also cool. It’s just too formal.

The General holds a rectangular, black box. He presents it to me as if I’ve won some award. Maybe I have.

What is it?

Open it. As you know, I won’t be here for Christmas, but your mother will. It’s an early Christmas present.

Thanks, Dad. I take the top off the box. Two watches?

They’re not watches, although that is one of their functions. They’re audiovisual position (AVP) locators, accessible anywhere on the planet through satellite relays. The wearers can keep track of each other no matter where they are with pinpoint accuracy.

Annnnnd … what am I supposed to do with them?

It’s military-grade technology. You won’t find those in any store. Think about it. He turns to leave. Could come in handy.

With a raised eyebrow, I watch him leave. He’s up to something. He always is. The General doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive. He is tactical in that respect—all respects. The General closes the door behind him, and I look at the AVP locators. Keep track of each other? It’s obvious he wants to keep track of me.

I have no use for the AVP locators, so I put them in my top dresser drawer in between my perfectly rolled socks. I crank out two more sets of push-ups and sit-ups and then hit the shower. How will I help my friend? I haven’t seen Naz since they released him from the hospital, and he’s not returning any of my calls. It’s clear he doesn’t want to hear from anybody.

Hot water cascades over me, and words rush in.

Solitude is my weapon and words my ammunition

Sticks and stones are useless in this definition

To turn a phrase or construct a verse is my defense mechanism

The firepower I ultimately use to bring meaning to this premonition

Metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole

It’s not the cause so much I’m after but the effect that appeals to me

Literary bombs, landmines, mortars, and rounds devastate discretely

And set the stage and tone for a new world order completely

It is a place I love to be, where I can escape, become one with the water. I take flight again as I did earlier this morning in my dream. If I could fly like Superman, I could watch over Naz until he weathered the storm. I laugh—fly like Superman.

I didn’t believe in superheroes or superpowers, just dreamed about them—until Naz. He’s angry, and he’ll try to get revenge. I have to protect others from Naz and Naz from himself. He’s not ready to be a hero—he’s more likely to be a villain—so it’s my duty to keep an eye on him—but how? If I follow him, he’ll use whatever ability he has to eventually sense me as he sensed Soul and me that day we followed him to the Incubus Apostle’s lair. I need