SO

By Lucian E. Gutierrez

From the beginning, Liam Michaels explains how, when, why, where, and whom are the cause. These events lead him to a reign of terror. With an abusive father before him, Liam shares his story for insight. As the plot thickens, Gabriel, Liam's father, pictures his son forming into the man he created. It starts with how--how a young love between Gabriel and Becky made the mistake of baring a baby boy. Like most teen lovers, the passion fades quickly. When it completely disappeared, Gabriel seeks attention elsewhere, some with strangers, others with married women, and the occasional coworker to Becky. But none is more unforgivable than an underage victim, Daisy. The abuse is believed to be secret since Daisy never reacts by having Gabe arrested.

Years pass, and Daisy runs away to where no one she knew will remind her of that horrible day. Needing money to survive, she becomes a dancer at a dangerous club. There she falls in deep with a drug dealer and pimp. Under his thumb, he uses her among other things to pedal dope throughout the club. Wanting out, she eventually finds a familiar face from back home. Liam too has become a fugitive. On the same path, he rescues Daisy from her pimp. Still shocked by his luck, he asks what happened to Daisy that brought her down in this beaten path. Nothing happens although someone drugs her beyond her control and take more than advantage of the situation. She's not clear on the details except she is sure who. Both Liam and Daisy share similar patterns of who caused such damage to their lives, which made them cross roads again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648017131

Book preview

cover.jpg

SO

Lucian E. Gutierrez

Copyright © 2022 Lucian E. Gutierrez

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-64801-711-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64801-712-4 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64801-713-1 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Legacy

Chapter 1

Gray

Chapter 2

Day of the Dead

Chapter 3

Two Face

Chapter 4

Betrayal

Chapter 5

Rogue

Chapter 6

The End

Chapter 7

Poor Doves

Chapter 8

Overdrive

About the Author

Dedicated to all the Judas' of the world.

Legacy

June 6, 2013 started off cold in my stomach despite it was a typical summer day in Houston. It's just nerves because the day I have set for myself. At least that's what I told myself. I made plans to go see Fast and the Furious 6. The last series with Paul Walker before he died in a fatal car accident. Not affected by the weird feeling of something wrong I got on a bus to AMC Theaters. While I watched the entry it reminded me of my old crew and the shit we did together. My guts froze over the same way they used to when I fired my gun. No matter how much I ignored it I couldn't shake this nasty feeling something was wrong. After the film I chilled at the bus stop which happen to be late as hell. Then that rotten feeling made sense when my mom called me. Hey where are you, she asked? I'm waiting for the bus. Listen, there's cops at your grandma's house. Grandma says it has to do with your brother. I'm driving there now. Tears made her voice break. He's dead! I know it! My baby is dead! What? Did grandma say that? No she wouldn't tell me but I just know it. My baby's dead. Don't say that mom. We don't know for sure. He was twenty-seven at the time. She accepted it first. I on the other hand refused to swallow the icy beverage death hands you and tells you to drink. Instead a prisoner I thought I locked away forever got released 6/6/13. The coldness was emptiness where the convicted was placed. For the second time he was free.

Truth be told my brother impacted everyone who knew him best and least. As a boy, he had favoritism with all the aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins, grandparents and adult women. Grandpa loved him so much he gave my brother the nickname Motorcycle. Our sitters always welcomed him to their homes. They referred to him as their little helper. He was their sweetheart. My sister found comfort in her big brother. Her name for him was Bubba, but only in her youth. Bubba was a badass because he would kick any ass that bothered or touched his sister. I can recall one particular incident where a boy who had a crush on our sister decided to pull her hair. Well once Bubba heard this a old fashioned school yard brawl broke out on the playground. It was more like a beat down. Growing up didn't change my brother one bit. Many incidents in his life forced his hand to protect his girls and women even female babies. One night my brother and I were smokin' outside our pink house. I named it that because of its' pink shutters. We passed a blunt between each other. Under the blue light of our porch. You know the kind of blue bulb that represented a drug dealers house before it paid tribute to dead police. Maybe it was the weed that dispelled an ugly secret. I'm not sure how it started, but he went on explaining a robbery with friends. They rushed the house and shot up the place. A baby's cries drew one of the friends into the baby's room. That friend put his gun to the baby. Motorcycle threatened him. As they argued my brother put his trigger finger on his gun. Nothing happened to the baby. Sometimes I believe my brother was just trying to scare me. Trying… To this day that story gives me nightmares. Imagine what my brother lived through.

Ultimately his guilty conscience drove him to the bottle. Before his troublesome lifestyle my brother enjoyed playing all sorts of instruments. His first love was the trumpet. Boy could play the hell outta that horn. Next he picked up the flute in middle school. Music teachers began to notice his natural talent towards music. They say he had an ear for music. Which now I realize that means he understood it well. How it begins; how it flows; how it functions; where it changes; from where it derives; how to express himself through his instruments; and where it ends. Experience landed him at percussions (drums). Plus our step dad was a powerhouse drummer. The kind of drummer that rocked all day, drank all night and consumed any drug he could afford that day. Which is why step dad's habits eventually became my brother's habits. Christmas 2004 my step dad had an idea to form musicians out of my brothers. Step dad gave the youngest brother a base guitar and Bubba got a drum kit. They practiced in a storage unit everyday. Sometimes all day instead of attending class. Then my step dad's dream to be a Rockenrolla became my brothers' dream. A shit load of drugs, alcohol, pussy, band members, friends, gigs and band names led to only one recorded album.

I however got the luxury of enjoying my brother's live acoustic guitar solos. It was addictive. Hidden somewhere deep in his soul he saturated his demons. And when he played those strings with the calluses on his fingers those demons would appear. They were beautiful like nothing I've ever heard. I hope when I get to hell, I am allowed to hear that music once more. We were sitting in the living room of a piece of shit rat & roach infested house we rented near downtown. That night my brother played a one of kind special acoustic guitar instrumental. The bottle was absent; no drugs present; just two brothers hanging out sharing stories. We might have had a beer. I forget. After he played he told me how he felt afraid because death always tortured him throughout the day. It was like Death was sitting next to us saying, Are you ready? Your time is close. About four years later death finally collected. His demise was my failure.

Looking back I can't forget a fight my brother got into with a kid just like him. You know how they say your parents don't press your buttons. They install them. We lived in a primarily black neighborhood at the time. A little black girl was riding her big brother's bike. A bicycle designed like a motorcycle. The girl let my brother borrow it to ride around once. Well my brother refused to return it, so she called her brother who knew martial arts. I was on the spider web obstacle when her big bro challenged my brother. The first kick was all the kid needed to knock the breath out of him. A side kick to the chest stunned my brother. He fell back. They wrestled pass the spider gymnasm to a walking trail about 10 yards away from me. Two Hispanic girls said why don't you help him? Honestly I was to afraid to get involved. All I could say was my brother is blind. That's why he's losing the fight. The girls asked me, wait he's blind? They started hollering at karate kid to stop because he's blind! Karate kid was on top of my brother with a fist ready to throw a punch. Those girls saved my brother that day. We walked back to our apartment to let my mom know. Mom said something tome I'll never forget. Where the hell were you? Why didn't you protect your younger brother? That's your job! My job… my job wasn't easy. In fact it was never easy. Time and time again I had to step up and fight these SOBs who looked tougher than me. Some if not most were larger or taller than I am. I would be lying if I said I won each fight. However it isn't a lie to say I protected my brother. Even from police. Motorcycle hated cops with a passion. They brutalized my mother on multiple occasions. Self righteous Hispanic cops who looked down on Mexicans. So fighting cops became a career for him and me. Thankfully we were never charged for any of the fights involving police. Having said that I will leave out any experiences that have long since passed.

We caused so much chaos that we even fought with each other. That's what football players do! His words followed by his actions embarrassed me terribly. When Motorcycle was 12 years old, our parents put him in pee-wee football. The Raiders had an impact on him I wasn't prepared for. Coach encouraged the Raiders by slapping the players on their butt when they scored a point, made a tackle or sack, caught a ball and ran the ball swiftly. As far I knew it wasn't sexual because the other players would congratulate each-other this way then follow up with, That's what football players do! So when my brother slapped my ass the way his gay buddies did. I was furious. It caught me off guard. But he kept doing it after I called him gay and not to do that shit. Now looking back it was harmless fun. Nevertheless it embarrassed me to this day.

Everyone chose their favorite quote Motorcycle said. Mine was, That's what football players do! For whatever reason it stuck with me for life. We wore our shirts proudly the day of his wake. Family and friends stood up approached the microphone and told their best stories about Motorcycle. As we stood there the priest read every black shirt with ghost letters. The quotes influenced his speech that referenced my brother to a star. How our love for Motorcycle was as great as the stars. And because we loved him as God loves us Motorcycle is surely with God on his own star. That may have satisfied the ears of those who listened. However I couldn't accept his death was that simple. SO, I spent eight years writing his life's story. This way Bubba in his death will continue to impact us through his legacy.

Chapter 1

Gray

Ash-colored clouds hang throughout the sky in every direction. For miles, as far as one can see, heavy rain moves in from the south, whipping winds rush in twirls chasing nothing, rumbles like dynamite spread across the open land, flickers of lightning strike the bed of discolored clouds, never hitting the same target twice. It is just like Mother Nature to be unpredictable and beautiful all at once. Giving hint, she is actually a woman, not male. Though so much beauty comes with cost, the cost of also being dangerous, she is scary when she acts up. Meanwhile Liam Micheals adores her. Paused, he takes a moment to prepare. Watching her be wild with deep blackened eyes, he absorbs all her terrifying nature. At the same time, he too is terrible by nature, born into a world of skills transform to callings, decisions made by others who attempted to test him. It was in those seconds to react that he found God. Proof that God exists in the microseconds one chooses to protect when having to decide fate. Mother used to say, For every crazy person, there is always someone crazier and stronger. So it was no surprise that he strives to become the more insane when others tested his limits. Assume every competitor is greater than I, says Liam before he battles anyone. This ensured him victory thus so far. Liam Michaels stands beneath the storm by choices he made which lead him here.

A horrible dehydration of which no amount of blood and rage can quench, this monstrous appetite feeds on revenge blinded by justice. Some will argue he is a hero. Yet Liam knows what he truly is and accepts the fact that he is doomed to be this figure of grayness till death, neither a solid citizen nor an outlaw. Beyond vigilance, Liam sees himself as a reckoning. Only black attire seems appropriate for Liam's particular job at hand, dressed in a charcoal coat, onyx long-sleeve shirt and pants, and tactical leather boots. Also he carries lethal weapons of accurate destruction, weapons like a large Vanguard knife with a wooden handle, gold trim, and a six-inch blade attached to his belt along his left waist side, strapped with two pistols, one in a holster concealed at his backside, the other under his left pant leg connected to his boot.

It's time he speaks aloud though no one else is present. He then turns away from the pouring clouds and heads toward the Camaro he stood beside while admiring his mother, not a stolen car but borrowed to complete his task. Liam presses the open button above the license plate lifting the trunk to a brutally injured man who lays victim to the animal towering over him. The captured man is bound at the hands, mouth, and face covered by a red drawstring bag. Without saying a word, Liam drags the defenseless man out by his ankles till his body slams to the gravel, not giving a damn that the poor soul endures more scratches when being pulled out. A groan then a whimper, the prey sounds in hopes this will end in his favor except it won't end in either of theirs. Liam stretches his fingers to grip both legs single-handed. Luckily the man is slim, a medium build. His boney legs ache as the beast crushes ankle to ankle. With Liam's free hand, he closes the trunk hard and proceeds touting his game through double doors of an abandon warehouse.

Deep along this back road stands a lonesome woodshop which belongs to a widower. Shorty after his wife died from AIDS virus, the structure in front of the shop mysteriously burned down. Still residual was an enormous empty slab north to his old woodshop. A true craftsman built the workshop behind the retreat house to run his furniture business. Now vacant on this huge acreage property, Liam chooses to bring a fresh catch here to gut a fish, descale it, and roast it over fire. Outside, it's topped with a slanted shed roof. Below the roof are polycarbonate, allowing natural daylight from the east horizon. Panels shield the rest of this architectural structure. Inside is worse. All its dirty secrets lie within. Some holes have formed in the ceiling due to neglect after multiple tornado damage. The windowpanes on the east end collect sawdust so thick it creates a depressing setting. Most of the worker's tools are long gone. Just a couple of workbenches remain and a torn swivel chair no one wants. Sandpaper crumbles gather around a dust pipe. More sandpaper pieces pile by a stack of wood beams. Only one-way in and one-way out the shop. These big doors located on the west end welcome visitors for the first time in decades.

The doors fly open wide when Liam rams into them backward. Each hatchway screeches before slamming shut like jail bars to the prisoner kidnapped from his old precious life. Hearing those doors close was enough to realize his defeat. In that moment, he regrets he didn't take advantage of every opportunity life offers daily. One particular situation comes to mind like the time a bride-to-be desperately wished he make love to her hours before she married his younger brother.

How foolish I was then? he thought. Their marriage lasted only five months. Every time she saw him at family events, she would grip his belt buckle and kiss his cheek a little longer than appropriate. Stupid shit! he calls himself. Now look at yourself at the mercy of a maniac. Who is he? Why has he brought me here? What does he plan to do? Can I bargain my way out of this? Maybe he's looking for someone. I know a lot of stupid people. I'll give him any name he wants as long as he releases me.

There, cowering at Liam's feet, he struggles to control his shakes. Fear and the icy concrete disable the coward from conjuring a rational escape plan.

Liam pauses for a moment about halfway into the stockroom. Impulse guides him from there. Beginning with the legs, Liam holds up the shivering leg by the calve. Steps to one side, Liam plants his left foot forward then kicks the wretch's knee, fracturing it to an instant wishbone. A hellish scream echoes off the walls. Panic overcomes the sufferer as he attempts an escape to wiggle away.

Where the fuck do you think you're going? There is nowhere to hide from me, and needless to say, there's no one who can help you here. We're a long way from society, Gabriel. Liam finishes the other limb, splitting it too.

Ignoring the painful cries, Liam turns Gabriel onto his belly, removes the bag from Gabriel's head, and fastens the handcuffs tighter till his skin breaks enough to bleed. The terrorist rolls Gabriel over once more by digging his heel into the stomach so Liam is able to lift him below the armpits. Now dangling midair, Liam tosses the cripple at the center of the floor. The impact sends shocks throughout Gabriel's arms when landing on his elbows. Some daylight shines from the ceiling above. A hole crated from years of neglect. This minimal light is similar to an interrogation room. Dim shadows surround the light, and dust particles float about like snow. Among the shadows, Liam remains within his elements.

Finally speaking to Gabriel, You should know I plan to kill you, he proclaims as he strolls to a desk against the wall. Liam continues explaining his actions while retrieving a swivel chair from the table, You may have many questions, but there is only one that concerns you. Who—that's right—who am I doing this for? Who is it that drives me? Who did you wrong enough to deserve torment? Who gave away your secret? Who is the only query that matters most? Now you may ask me.

But Gabriel refuses to acknowledge the question. His attitude is I don't care who. His primary concern is when. When,