Part 1 (1/2)
The Hunters.
A Henry Parker Story.
by Jason Pinter.
AUTHOR NOTE.
Dear Reader- Thank you for downloading my brand new, never-before-published novella THE HUNTERS. Now, my guess is that you fall into one of three camps: 1) You've read all of my Henry Parker novels 2) You're a new reader who recently finished my latest book - THE FURY 3) You have no idea who I am or what I write but decided to give this free ebook a shot.
Whether you fall into group 1, 2 or 3 I'm glad you're here, because you're literally right smack in the middle of what I consider the most exciting work I've ever written.
First, let me fill you in a little bit on how THE HUNTERS fits into my Henry Parker series. I recently published a novel called THE FURY, and in that book I introduced a storyline that will continue into my next book, THE DARKNESS. I always envisioned these two novels as bookends to one, ma.s.sive story. So THE DARKNESS picks up pretty much right where THE FURY ends...almost...
You see, there's one night in between the end of THE FURY and the beginning of THE DARKNESS. Now, if you're like me, your average night might be spent having dinner, maybe watching some television, doing work, having a drink or cup of coffee, and likely falling asleep long before the witching hour. But not these characters. And that's where THE HUNTERS comes in.
You see, even though one night is only a scant few hours between sunset and sunrise, a whole lot can happen when darkness rules the night. If you've read THE FURY, in THE HUNTERS see just how much trouble is yet to come. If you're reading my work for the first time, you'll be introduced to a world full of intrigue, violence, love, s.e.x and conspiracies that go back decades. Whichever of these groups you belong to, I think you'll enjoy THE HUNTERS both as an exciting stand alone story, or one that complements and fleshes out characters you've grown to love and hate (some perhaps at the same time). Either way, get ready for one wild night.
Thank you for reading THE HUNTERS. Just remember, a whole lot can happen once the sun goes down...
Jason Pinter September 2009
Chapter 1.
It's gonna be a long night.
Those were the words I spoke to Amanda just as Jack O'Donnell left us, heading back to wherever it was that he'd left months ago. The past few days had left me drained, cold, but seeing Jack was a shot of espresso after a long sleep. I felt strong, invigorated. Strange feelings, considering I was in the middle of trying to find out who killed my brother.
Amanda and I were packing up my apartment, getting ready to move in together at a new rental farther downtown. This old place held a lot of memories, but like Jack, perhaps it was time to start over. Come clean. At some point, even the good memories are overshadowed by the bad ones, and a fresh perspective can help you hang on to the ones you want to keep and forget the ones you don't.
But as I told Amanda, it was going to be a long night, and memories didn't wash away that quickly.
Once the final box was packed, and sealed with enough duct tape to strap it to a cruise missile, we hopped in a cab and followed the driver down to our new place on 87th Street. It was a nice neighborhood, populated by young families and young professionals-which meant plenty of parks and playgrounds, and a whole lot of dive bars. Amanda and I were somewhere in the middle of those two worlds: not ready to face the mortgage and two-point-five children yet, and not quite in the mood to wear baseball caps while spilling beer over ourselves because our team scored a touchdown. For us, the mating ritual seemed over. We preferred quiet conversation to boisterous applause. A cold bottle of beer in front of one television beat a watered-down draft in front of twelve.
G.o.d, I sounded old.
We watched warily out the window as the moving van seemed to steer directly into every pothole on the street. I cringed every time the wheels jumped, and I waited for the moment when the axle would just snap in half and all of my oh-so-valuable possessions would come flying out the back like stuffing from a slit couch.
When the van finally came to a stop, I jumped out of the cab and met the movers at the back of their van. When the driver, a man with ma.s.sive biceps and an even bigger gut, wearing a back brace that could have been used in those World's Strongest Man compet.i.tions, went to pick up my stuff, I leaned in to help. Then I felt Amanda's hand on my arm.
”What are you doing?” she asked.
”I'm going to help carry stuff,” I said. ”It's my junk, after all.”
”Yeah, but you paid them to carry it. It's their job.”
”I know,” I said. ”I'm just not used to someone else doing the heavy lifting.”
”Would you feel better if I did it?” Amanda said, her hand on her hip.
”Actually,” I replied, smiling, putting my arm around her, ”I would.”
She stood on tiptoe and gave me a small peck on the cheek. I'm not sure how wide I was smiling before, but now I was positively beaming.
It took just under an hour for the movers to transport all the boxes and secondhand furniture up to our second-story walkup. In New York, real estate prices were often dictated by how high a floor your apartment was on. A general rule of thumb: the higher the floor, the more costly the apartment. I figured in a walkup, the reverse applied. I'd rather pay more to live on a lower floor. Lugging groceries up five flights would be a b.i.t.c.h; two was just fine.
Once the movers were done and satisfied with their tip, Amanda and I walked into our new place. Amanda's few things were already there. None of the boxes was unpacked, none of the furniture was where it was supposed to go. The bed frame was set up, but the mattress was on its side against the foyer wall. We hefted it up, brought it into the bedroom and left it fall onto the plywood with a thunk. thunk.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. Looked around. Amanda sat next to me.
”Everything okay?” she said.
I looked over at her. Smiled.
She was a true beauty in every sense of the word. That auburn hair that fell around her shoulders like a sunset, the small mole on her collarbone that I loved to kiss. When we met, I felt like the luckiest man on earth simply because she'd saved my life. Now, I felt like the luckiest man on earth because she'd saved my soul.
”Thinking about Jack?” she said. ”I didn't know he was still alive, let alone in our neighborhood. The least he could have done was brought over a housewarming gift.”
I shook my head. ”Not thinking about Jack,” I responded.
”Then what is it?”
”Stephen. I'm thinking about Stephen.”
Amanda nodded, stayed silent. I didn't know what to say-how would she?
A few days ago, I found out that I had a brother. A man I'd never met in my life, who until he was thirty years old had never met or tried to get in touch with me. And the day he finally did reach out to me...he was murdered.
I wasn't exactly a good luck charm when it came to family reunions.
I checked my watch. It was nearing midnight. I'd promised Jack to be at the office early the next morning. Which meant that if I was hoping to go in refreshed, I'd have to hit the sack pretty soon. And considering that our bedsheets were sealed inside any one of twenty boxes and that it was likely underneath pounds of junk (the penalty for packing quickly and not labeling your boxes), it'd be 2 a.m. at the earliest.
Not that I could fall asleep.
There was too much at stake. I still didn't know who was behind Stephen's death, and I still wasn't exactly sure what Jack had in store for me in the morning. And hardest of all, I had a beautiful girl that I loved sitting right next to me.
”I don't think I can sleep,” I said.
”Want to unpack?” Amanda asked. ”Take your mind off of things?”