Page 1 of Pitbull
Prologue
The dimly lit street was silent as the grave except for a buzzing stoplight swinging against an electrical wire above the damaged road. Periodically, the silence was interrupted by sirens as emergency vehicles zoomed across the overhead bridge. Other than that, nothing moved below—nothing breathed.
It was hot and muggy as if the air was sucked from the street leaving it un-breathable.
The buildings were all dark. Their outside walls covered in graffiti showcasing some crudely spelt cuss words or someone’s name. One building standing behind the only mailbox on the street had two broken front windows. The store across from the only tree on the street had bars against the windows facing the loathsome street. The front door was always locked with a note stating ‘to gain service, ring bell.’ Beneath, taped to the door were two other signs:
Shoppers permitted one at a time.
The premises is under video surveillance. Shoplifters will still be quartered, hanged and shot.
The one stoplight outside was stuck on red. It had been broken for so long, the people couldn’t remember the last time it worked. They simply treated it as a four way stop, the first person to arrive had the right of way. No one wanted to venture out to fix it.
Everything was broken there—even the people—more so the people. They ambled around like the streetlight, barely holding on, forgotten. They didn’t have to worry about outsiders not understanding the rules. The small community couldn’t be found on any German maps—old or recent. Still, someone had to be a special kind of stupid to wind up there. When tourists asked where to avoid, it wasn’t hard to guess the answer.
A page from a newspaper blew fell from the bridge overhead and danced in the wind across the wrecked asphalt before slamming into the front door of the store. The section facing the inside readPoliticians Forgot About Metro Valley.That, in a sense was like beating a dead horse.
Metro Valley hadn’t been on anyone’s lips for over twenty five years. Metro Valley was the name whispered in the dark, the dirty little secret most people merely wish would go away. So, they did the next best thing—pretended it didn’t exist.
Behind this street, the small ghetto of Metro Valley lay like rodents on the land. The tossed together homes sat against each other in one giant jig-sawed mess all over the filthy land. They were built in haste for survival not to please the eyes. The earth there had long since died from some kind of government testing years prior—years before many of the adults there were even born. But they had nowhere else to go.
This was home and there was no place like it.
The dark cloud over the street was interrupted by a slow moving car. It jerked to a stop before lurching forward only to stop again quite violently. A dark figure within the four doors leant close to the dashboard, peering pensively at the controls and meters before slamming a fist into the dashboard. The engine rattled fiercely like someone was inside it banging on a tin drum. Once again, the car eased forward and stopped at the red light. Still the engine made the god-forsaken sound even as the car waited.
A stranger—a dumb as hell stranger. At the light he’d be waiting forever.
A second car screeched around Dead Man’s Curve and jammed to a stop a slight distance behind the first car. They turned off the headlights and sat in the dark watching the car before them. One of the hooded figures in the second car looked around, as though expecting someone to be on the street at such a horrid time of the night. No one with any brain cells left would be there after dark.
The man in the passenger seat of the second car reached into his jacket. There was a beep and the car before them erupted into a giant ball of fire.
Düsseldorf,in a gated community, lays the sprawling beauty of wealth. The houses were spread out wonderfully with white picket fences and two and a half kids. Lush parks and trees were situated all over the landscape and as far as the eyes could see, everything was perfect. Down Gilbourne Circle, all the houses sat well lit and painted in the same shade of Seashell Brown. The front yards were wonderfully manicured, trees perfectly carved and sprinklers came on only after midnight. The moon shone above as though abandoning Metro Valley like the politicians had.
Further down, to the end of Gilbourne Circle, in house number forty five everything is still except for the crying phone. The children were tucked in their beds, and mom and dad had finished their compulsory coupling. Mom was pretending to be asleep, hoping her husband wouldn’t want more while he snored like a stuck pig beside her.
The phone stopped ringing but only for a breath.
It began again and she rolled over and whacked him against the side. Grunting, he jerked upright in bed.
“What now?” He questioned.
“Your phone is ringing again!” She snapped, pushing her feet out of bed and into her slippers. She grabbed her pillow and a nearby Japanese bathrobe and scuttled from the room muttering under her breath. He watched her leave wondering what he’d done to deserve such a burden before turning his attention to the phone.
“What?”
“It’s done.” A hoarse voice replied from the other end of the line.
The man groaned and peered at the clock. He reached and flipped on the bedside lamp. “Are you sure?”
“Yes—I did it myself.”
A Grinch-like grin spread the man’s face. “I’ll send the rest of the money to the account now. Give me five minutes.”
“Very well.”
He dropped the phone into its cradle and flopped against the pillow. Overwhelming joy built within him and he couldn’t resist the urge to flop around on the bed. He stifled his cry of sheer happiness and did one last jerk against the bed before climbing out and rushing to his library. There, he glanced behind him into the hall to make sure his nosy wife wasn’t following and locked the door behind him. At the large bookcase, he pulled out the one book he knew his wife would never readFinances: A Complete Look at Your Money.It fell out only half way before a small partition in the case gave way to a hidden safe. Entering his combination, he gathered the laptop into his arms and sat down at his desk. He was humming by the time he logged into the computer, the one his wife had no idea about, and sent fifty thousand dollars from his off-shore account to the promised one. He then chucked the paper with the account number into the fire and closed the computer then replaced it in the safety of his hidden hole. With that done, he glanced down at the front of his boxers. Even his cock knew what had happened and wanted to celebrate. He may not love her, but she had her uses.
Pushing from his desk, he exited the room for the guestroom. In no time at all, the bed could be heard squeaking in the night.
