Once in, There Is No Getting Out

By Don Jay D'Bear

Down in Florida, two families are constantly at war with each other. This, of course, is over strength, money, turf, drugs, and power. Many shoot-outs and some deaths occur as this war continues. A man named Big John, who moved down to Florida from Englishtown, New Jersey, settles in nicely in Florida. Big John decides to invite a great friend named Sammy, a.k.a. Crown, to Florida. The invitation is for the money in the fight night game going on in Florida. The invite directs Sammy into some action. Sammy is not just a good fighter but rather a great fighter in his art in fighting. Sammy's greatness gets him to meet big people in the Enterprise. This is where the adventure starts, with many twists and turns. Sammy has only one choice, join this Enterprise. Sammy is then joined by two other great fighters who have their own special skills. These three become the cleanup crew for the Enterprise. The war with the Garcia brothers continues as the adventure moves along on its way to Once in, There Is No Getting Out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886543810

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Once in, There Is No Getting Out

Don Jay Dand#39;Bear

Copyright © 2022 Don Jay D'Bear

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 979-8-88654-379-7 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-381-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of 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

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

About the Author

Prologue

The early morning sun rose, gently brushing over the trees which surrounded the hundred-acre lake. Resting on the outskirts of Providence, the capital of Rhode Island, a mere 120 feet from the shoreline of the mirrored lake, a two-story ranch-styled wooden cabin was comfortably perched. Inside, on the second tier, a slightly ajar bedroom door comprised two cuddled bodies resting beneath a peach-colored, lightweight silk sheet set. Directly to the left corner, slightly away from the closet, a brand-new baby crib rested. Sleeping snuggly within, a baby boy burped then stirred ever so gently. Over to the right, resting atop an end table, a bright-sea-green light illuminates a punched-out time of 3:43 a.m. this Saturday morning.

Outside the home, climbing up alongside the wooden-framed porch of the second floor, four very large ugly black spiders crawled up their stringy spun webs. In truth, these were four well-trained assassins, hired and paid generously to carry out a hit on the man up inside named Sammy. Sammy thought he could just pack up his family and valuables and relocate. Except getting away from the lucrative drug, gun-running, and counterfeiting money game wasn't going to be that easy as his now ex-boss, Carl, had other plans.

Carl's message was simple. Once you're in this game, the only way out is by death itself.

So of course, Carl meant what he said, and he happily grinned when he handed over a nice pile of Benjamin greenbacks and told the leader of his mini hit squad, Leave nothing but blood and bodies behind.

So just like a pile of floating ghosts, three out of the four assassins landed on the porch then slithered and entered through an open window. The fourth crouched into a darkened corner, staying low and well hidden. A fifth man in the group stayed ground level, hidden behind some shrubs, him being the safety valve in their mapped-out plan. They were all well armed, ready to carry out this paid-for gruesome bloodbath. They all must have bright-green Kool-Aid pumping through their arteries because it surely couldn't be real red blood flowing within, especially with the nasty intentions that were evidently winding through their minds.

Now since the bedroom door was already slightly opened, one of the assassins lay down low and pushed the door completely open. While this was happening, instantaneously, the two others, one up high the other stooped middle range, aimed and fired their high-powered silencers. The peach-colored sheet, which was sprawled atop the bed, grew numerous nickel-sized holes which squirted and oozed a darkish red-colored liquid. A split second later, a bright-reddish, whitish, blackish explosion puffed smoke and debris around the ajar door area. This explosion tore up and destroyed the whole surroundings of the door area, which now held three charcoal, unrecognizable, riddled bodies.

Somehow, Sammy was able to pop up out of his sleep with a feeling of déjà vu and a deep intuition that something afoul was about to take place. This know-how of some sort was able to save his life. He just wasn't quick enough to also pull his beautiful wife, Tammi, away in time. As he rolled from the bed, he was able to grab the grenade-launching submachine gun, which was strapped safely along the side of the bed. He fired instantly and was able, with precision, to hit his target area to the tee.

Suddenly through all the noise and chaos, a deafening silence grew within. That's when Sammy leaned up and over, peeling back the peach sheets, quickly realizing that Tammi was dead. He then gently lifted her, holding her, hugging her, and squeezing her tightly as tears began to slowly stream down his face. Just as suddenly, a baby's cry sprang him out of his trance. Then quickly understanding all that had just taken place, he jolted, speedily surveying and registering his surroundings. He knew he had to react fast, so he popped up, and with clear thoughts, he dashed toward the baby's crib. He reached up, grabbing off the closet's hook a homemade sack-like frontal baby harness, quickly strapping it securely around his neck. His arms glided very softly down, lifting baby Billy out of the crib and bundling him snuggly inside the cushioned baby carrier. Sammy then put the final touches on by strapping both arms and securing everything. He then, with precise speed, kicked open the secret door, reached up attaching the rolling hook onto the heavy-duty steel wire line above. Now he high stepped, speedily swinging and gliding swiftly downward into the night's air. As he swiveled downward, his mind began to maneuver upon many thoughts…

Chapter 1

Three years earlier

Florida began to awaken on an early spring morning. The darkness slightly transformed, tinting into lightness as the new day slowly crept in. The Southeast Metropolitan area was the location on the mildly dry upcoming spring day. Comfortably inside, the central air-conditioning buzzed in a sprawled-out ground-level one-family home. Outside the neon-blue lights cast a glow as bugs and insects were zapped as they winged closer to the frontal fluorescent lighting devices. Within, a tall, slender, good-looking woman with thick raven hair and dark-brown eyes and a slightly upcurved nose had just finished turning the sink water off as she exited her bathroom. She stepped gingerly down the hallway, thinking of her twenty-minute drive over to Jan's place. Reaching down gently, she twisted the doorknob then pushed the door inward and peeked inside; her eyes adjusting to the darkened bedroom. A greenish glow extended from the foot of her son's bed. This, she realized, was the lime-green glow-in-the-dark socks he had bragged about buying at some novelty store a few days previously. A slight smile crossed her open lips as she was now aware her son had not snuck out with the two, no-good next-door neighboring teens. With this concern out of her mind, she turned, heading toward the front door. She opened the door and stepped out happily as she moved toward her Volvo station wagon that awaited her out front.

Snug within Southeastern Florida in the year 2010 on a spring morning, the weather began warming up as three teen boys moved uphill, cutting through a winding path cut almost like an uneven part in one's hairline. The teens came from below, where the swampy saltwater channel had become their fishing hole. The three could pass as look-alikes; all sporting the same short buzz cut brown hair, brown eyes, white T-shirts, green shorts, dark sneakers with no socks, and each a smiling grin to boot. As they moved upward, on either side of them, the scattered vegetation held numerous lizards that scampered about.

Hank McCuller, the youngest of the bunch, trailed the other two teens. He spoke out, echoing in a voice imitating a woman, I've told you before, don't go out fishing with those two McCuller boys! There is nothing but dangerous gators, poisonous snakes, and God knows what else to worry about. Let Ms. McCuller worry about them. I don't want to have to worry about you.

Suddenly, a slight burst of laughter erupted, Ha, ha, ha!

The trio continued moving along. John, the elder of the two McCullers, was leading out in front, simply carrying a dark-blue fishing tackle box. The monkey in the middle, Bobby, had to adjust as he balanced a large green, rimmed bucket, which was three-quarters filled with saltwater and a dozen or so fish which they had caught. Some of the fish still splashed about within the bucket. Hank trailed behind, gripping two fishing rods with reels in his right hand while another rod and reel swayed gently in his left hand.

Suddenly, Bobby called out in reaction to the laughter using his deepest voice, I'm only here due to my quick thinking and my buying those glow-in-the-dark socks, you two weisenheimers.

The boys continued moving upward toward the level ground above. Suddenly, their heads swiveled toward the noises they heard in the distance. Clapping, laughter, cheers, and other unknown loudness drifted to their ears. This was when John, who still led the group, lifted his right hand, motioning like a crossing guard, signaling for a complete halt.

John stopped, turned, and whispered, Leave everything, pointing toward a bunch of shrubs, which were covered with wild berries, off to the left.

All three moved over to the left, bent down, and left their fishing gear behind.

Finally they reached ground level, where a fifty-or-so-yard-long vandalized and dilapidated old storage building stood. Many a times, in the last few years, they, with other friends from town, had played manhunt there. This made them familiar with every nook and cranny inside and outside of the area. Now being curious of the noises coming from within, they headed to the back part of the surrounding fence. John led the way as the other two followed. They knelt, pulling back the unlinked part of the fence then slid under, one after the other.

Still crouching low, they slid through another boarded-up area, where they had to stoop and crawl like mice in a maze to get to another area that led to a decrepit stairwell. They slowly and carefully moved along, getting to the second landing. They came upon a dirty, musty, and vandalized office, from where the sounds they heard originated. The office bathroom had an area where the sink and copper piping had been removed for someone's gain. They hunched down, each spying through the slits where once the copper piping ran. This was almost like a peep show: drop in your quarter and view the show. As their eyes focused, what they saw was just like a UFC fight night.

Downstairs, in the widespread open area, built almost like an airplane hangar, a surge of autos, mostly SUVs, vans, and station wagons, half surrounded a group of men who completed the circle. The chanting men exceeded ninety in count. The wild crowd extended and enclosed one referee, who oversaw two sweaty, sculptured fighters. Toe to toe, the fighters were engaged in a grudge match, grappling quite lewdly.

From within the circle of men, an individual named Jimmy yelled out to two of his buddies, Yo fellas, I'm already takin' a likin' to this place over the last fight spot. Even if we kinda got run off by them rich folks who brought the property. Before you know it, this place will be swarming with new faces and the others, like bees on honey.

Just as this last word spun out of Jimmy's mouth, the two sweaty combatants had locked arms, spinning in a swirl as they flew up and then downward to the padded floor, much like a large plane crashing onto the runway. The underdog of the two, who had been bet against two to one, must have saved his last burst of strength and energy, pushing forth with an outbreak, freeing himself. The underdog locked a clamped neck-ringer hold on his opponent. With this move, he applied utmost pressure. All that was left was a tap out. The ref was aware of this troubled sign, so he dove headfirst, lunging on top of the two fighters. The ref's action stopped any further damage to the once favorite and now loser of the fight. Seeing this, the spectators went into a frenzy, yelling out indifferences. Next money was being exchanged from the losers to the winners. Meanwhile, others started screaming, Bring on the main event! Yeah, bring out the undefeated champ!

Hearing these chants, the opponent for the main event casually slipped from the passenger side of a dark-blue SUV, which he traveled in, and stepped straight over to the padded ring with an air of poise and confidence. Accompanying him was a long-haired gentleman, who supported, sponsored, and financially backed him with big money. The long-haired gentleman steered the opponent nicknamed Crown into competing in this main event. The main event was against the number one and undefeated heavyweight fighter, who went by the moniker Hey-stack. This name more than likely attained from back in the good old wrestling days.

Despite not having all the bells and whistles available due to the change in locations, the sexy round-per-round card lady pranced the lit scoreboard with noted odds and the big, bright timer showing the five-minute per round, the main event still had to go on. Everything would just have to be kept simple. There was a large flip card for the numbered rounds, a handheld stopwatch, and whistles and bullhorns handy to best accommodate. Also lacking, the grand entrance for the super-large undefeated champ. Ducking out from the sliding door of a tastefully done custom van so his head wouldn't collide with the interior of the van's roof, Hey-stack's large feet finally touched pavement. He stood six feet eight inches tall, weighed 380 pounds, and sported a gleaming bald head. Standing, he shadowed his surroundings like a wide tree stump of a California redwood. In comparison, the custom van looked like a child's toy; an amazing sight to see. Maybe not for Crown, who stood an even six feet, weighed a buck ninety-five, jet-black hair, sparkling green eyes, and chiseled like a marbled Roman statue. Compared to Hey-stack, Crown was dwarfed, like a house cat alongside a lion.

All the waiting was about over as the circling crowd began uttering a musical loud tone of acclaimed madness. Just as fast, this crazy tone softened down to a stillness. From either side of the fight area, two extraordinary powers strolled strongly to the center, where the wee-figured ref stood. They both looked up and down at one another, by each other strangely. The ref then gave the instructions and all the rules of the fight. He made them touch knuckles before they returned to their corners. Quickly the whistles and bullhorn shrieked out as both fighters attacked by running straight forward at one another in the middle of the ring. Both lunged, fists flying as they came forth, catching nothing but air. Another two large swipes from Hey-stack's enormous hands missed again as Crown swayed away, ducking his melon right then twisting left, escaping these wild swings. Crown then jumped up, kicking his left leg connecting to the right side rib area. Instantaneously, his left foot then caught the gut area. Both these shots should have hurt, but all they did was annoy that giant like a buzzing fly. Continuing, they both swayed, shifted, and rolled like two dancers in a nightclub. They were spying on each other desperately, looking for the precise opening for a shot at some utmost damage. Then unexpectedly, an overextended, larger-than-life mitt surprisingly caught Crown around the neck like a vise grip. Crown's quick reaction to this was a direct powerful chop to the middle chest area, but this didn't even budge or flinch Hey-stack.

The grip around the neck area tightened, sucking some of the life out of Crown as he was lifted higher and tossed like a paper doll. He flew airborne then smacked down hard, stiffly landing approximately twenty or so feet away from the padded area. Hey-stack grew confident with this mighty fling, raising bold his hands as he turned