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Sunday, February 17, 2019

Deeds of Darkness and other writing

Hi

I've been slack in blogging for a while now.  I'm going to try to correct that. I've also been busy with planning out my next thriller which I hope to release later this year.

Since I last posted, I've published Deeds of Darkness late October 2018.

Here's a chapter from this story.

DEEDS OF DARKNESS

AN AMANDA BLAKE NOVEL

Book 2

O. N. Stefan
© 2018

Published by: Payella Pty. Ltd.



1

Sydney, NSW, Australia 


He liked autumn because if winter was the death of the year, autumn was the dying. Watching the dying was his favorite pastime.
His burner cell phone rang. “What?” He sipped a glass of 1998 Penfolds Grange and enjoyed the Sydney skyline with its confusion of lights and shadows that hid many sins.
“Just the man and the girl?” the male voice said.
“All four must die. Don’t you listen? You stupid or something?
“My fee is double ‘cause I now count four hits not two, and the disrespect. It’s a difficult job.”
He slammed his glass on the coffee table and it shattered, spraying red wine over his chinos. It looked like he’d been stabbed. “What, you now have a maths degree! You knew about that from the start, so don’t give me any shit over charging more.”
“We agreed on my fee for each termination at the start.”
“Okay. You have the photos and the video link to the GPS tracker.” He pulled a shard of glass from his finger and sucked the bloom of blood. “Just make sure they’re not found.”
“Consider it done.”
“I want photos sent to the email address I gave you. Then erase all evidence.” He called off and pulled out the SIM card from the burner phone, crushed the card under his heel, went to the marble tiled bathroom and flushed it down the toilet. It never hurt to be too careful.
He dropped his stained clothes in the laundry basket, slipped on a pair of jeans, picked up his keys, and let himself out. He buzzed the elevator and waited for it to arrive. The adrenaline rush of talking about killing got him in the mood. This was a good night for a special sort of entertainment. He hummed a song that he had long forgotten the words to. A song about death and dying.
He rode the elevator down to the ground floor, left the apartment building and crossed Darlinghurst Road. Walking past the aromas of Chinese, Italian, and French foods, he continued towards a side street where some transvestites plied their trade. He lit a cigarette and ignored their lascivious stares. Two lady boys, more valuable cargo than the trannies guarded by their pimp, leaned against a wall.
A Thai boy stepped towards him. “You want lady?”
“Go fuck yourself, you disgusting piece of arse.”
The boy shrank back.
Then he saw the sort of woman he was looking for. Drugged, alone, with no scum to protect her, she was ideal.
He approached her. “Are you ready for a good time?”
“Sure, Mister. BJ will cost $50 and FL--
“All night. Name your price.”
The blonde had a false and nervous laugh. “No funny stuff!”
“I just need to talk.”
“I’m serious. No funny stuff. I’m not into S & M.”
“I don’t do naughty. I just want to talk, and some straight sex.” He gave her his best innocent look.
Okay, Mister. Just let me text my friend.”
“Sure. You should keep safe.” He led her to a vehicle he’d parked in a lane a couple of hours ago and opened the door for her.
He slipped inside the cabin and turned to her. “What’s your name?”
Just call me Melanie.” She did up her seat belt. “Where are we going?”
“Not far away.” He pulled away from the curb and the vehicle automatically locked the doors. She wouldn’t be able to escape even if she wanted to.
The devil was smiling on him tonight.