'The River' Blood Brother Chronicles - Volume 1

T. Beaulieu

Description

'The River' is the first offering of 'The Blood Brother Chronicles', a dramatic series loosely based on family folklore that has been passed down through countless generations in the author's family. Many of these legends, reaching as far back as 1919, are about two (2) half brothers born in and around the turn of the century, 'Slick' and 'Skeeter'.

Not much is known about the two brothers that were said to have disappeared either in New York City or on their way up North in 1927, except that they were contract killers with kind hearts that helped the poor. After an extensive two (2) year family history search, speaking with several older relatives, the author was inspired to write 'The River'.

Slick and Benjamin (Skeeter) are half brothers, one white, the other creole, both growing up poor on a tobacco plantation in the late 1800's. Now grown men in the Roaring 1920's, the brothers work as contract killers for the highest bidder, often the first option for wealthy white men, the last option for the poor.

Always with ears to the the underworld, the boys soon learn of white and black lynchings, bullying, land grabbing and resource stealing by big corporation. Usually killing bigots and hate-mongers for sport, stakes are raised when large multinational companies stomp into South Carolina with steel toed boots and not much of a care whom they step on, intimidating poor white, black and native American farmers for their hard earned land.

Coming up with a small well thought out plan after finally locating the legal documents, Slick and Benjamin discover that the parchments have been burned in the middle of the sheriff's office after a midnight raid. This only deepens the men's suspicions as well as the mystery of whom or what owns vast amounts of land all around the Carolinas, land certain well heeled men are willing to kill whole families for.

As the men travel through the dark under belly of corrupt South and North Carolina local government and the highest echelons of wealth and society, their investigation is complicated when twelve (12) young prostitutes are discovered dismembered, their body parts discovered in several Carolina rivers.

Each dead girl had one thing in common; they all once worked for the infamous Madame Lolly, owner of the most exclusive 'skin-hustling' business in all of the Deep South.

Rustling up clues and discovering the truth behind an investigation that will eventually take them all over the world, the killers-turn- investigators call upon a complicated cast of characters, many of which lie as easily as they tell truths, protecting wealth, heritage, family and their own lives.

Slick and Benjamin have embarked on a journey they could have never imagined in darkest, wildest dreams; supernatural gods and powers, vast wealth, dark international brother hoods, all while trying to stay safe as their enemies grow more and more powerful.

Sujets

• Thrillers
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 07 janvier 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456626181
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

'The River'
Blood Brother Chronicles
Volume 1
 
 
by
T. Beaulieu

Copyright 2015 T. Beaulieu,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2618-1
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 
 



To ‘Skeeter’
I’ll never forget the day you gave me ‘permission’ to tell your story. I hope I have done the life you lead justice.
Though you never made it to Harlem, though my heart and mind there will always be jazz and cold booze, as well as a pretty smile waiting for you in the ‘Black Mecca’.
Thank you for choosing me for this journey.
 
 
To Zora Neale Hurston
The very first book I ever read in this life was
“Their Eyes Were Watching God”. For a 10 year old, this masterpiece opened my eyes to the world of books like none other. As a writer, I hoped one day that I would write a book that was as honest and raw, yet haunting and beautiful in so many ways.
Even to this day, I pick up my copy every few months, usually reading passages out loud to myself, feeling Janie’s essence all through my soul.
I love and adore you Ms. Hurston Thank You.
 
 
To Christian Kane
You put your heart into ‘Eliot’, a killer whom found his
soul through the eyes of those that he helped along the way, as well as others that saw him for whom he was. A kind hearted soul needing redemption.
If you should ever read this book, I can only hope you see a little bit of your warmth, caring and humanity in ‘Slick. A man that was deeply flawed, but loved just as great.
I hope this book only adds to your accolades as a talented actor, singer and humanitarian.
 
 
Maybe one day, over a well written ‘The River’ script and a few beers, we can discuss the God’s beautiful universe.
 
 
From one spirit brother to another.
 
 
Thank You.
To My Family
No words are needed. The type of love we share can’t be written down. Its simply too sacred.
(stop growling at me Jimmy LOL!) Love Yall
 
 
To My Readers:
I started the journey of storytelling unsure and insecure. Many of your kind words have changed that, making me the writer that I am and will be in the future.
I have spoken with so many of you in the past, seeing how my imagination has given so many of you that ‘fire’ to do in life what brings you great joy.
 
 
I have to admit, there are times when alone, I have cried. Not out of sorrow, but of joy, knowing that other human beings
understand.
 
 
Thank you for letting me into your hearts, minds and souls.
I promise, as long as I continue to be a story teller, that I will always be honest and do my very best.
As one of my elders says -
“Being a storyteller of your tribe is an important responsibility.
You are passing along the words and spirits of those that made way for you. In doing so, you give new life to
where there was only emptiness.
Providing a heartbeat for those that still have so much to say.”
 
 
All of you are a part of my literary ‘tribe’ Thank You.
Preface
 
It all started when I found a snapshot when I was about 12 years of age. In a photo album full of people of color, indigenous and black, and some that are in between, a photo of ‘white’ men made me look twice.
 
 
There was something about it that stood out.
 
 
After some time, I asked around my large family. All I got was that the two men on the far left of the dog eared photo were half brothers.
 
 
That was that.
 
 
The more I asked, the more cryptic my elders became, some even getting angry, asking why I wanted to “open up old wounds”
 
 
As a young man, this only intrigued me even more.
 
 
Over time I started to learn more about the brothers, much I am sure has been dramatized. The stories that were told to me were detailed and colorful, tales of two men roaming through the Carolina’s as contract killers in the early 1920’s, one white, the other a creole, doing as they pleased in a time most black men could not even vote.
 
 
As more time passed, I begin to learn about Sketter and Slick, how much they meant to black and poor white people in that time, killing klans men, blowing up Klan chapters that were known to have killed the innocent and protecting those that could not protect themselves.
 
 
Each tale captivated my imagination, allowing a sense of pride as I started to understand that the history between blacks and whites in the Deep South had many gray areas and was often glorious and beautiful, as it was cruel and dehumanizing.
 
 
As time went on, I also discovered that the men were hired killers for white businessmen, killing off business rivals. Needless to say, the folklore that surrounds these alleged gangsters is as varied as the tales I have heard about their lives, much of which is long lost.
 
What I do know is that these men were important to many during that time, that they were killers and both disappeared around 1931 in New York City.
 
 
No one ever heard from them again.
 
 
As an author I was hooked, hearing colorful detailed stories and folklore, many that would often last well into the wee hours, told by people that apparently admired the men.
Always on the edge of my seat listening to much of what I was told, I was left unsettled after learning that the men seem to vanish right when they arrived in New York.
The stories and vivid lives well lived, it all ended so abruptly.
 
 
This fact haunted me for months, I wanted to know more, always arriving to the concrete resolution that Sketter and Slick, even though they lived generations ago, would never see the impact their bravery and gumption had on future generations.
 
 
Honing my craft as a wordsmith, writing several publications, the men that were the most distant of distant relatives, subtle whispers of lives that were bold forces of nature, were always in my heart, some where roaming in my soul.
That is when my journey started, giving ‘The Blood Brothers’ life again. This time, my great-great uncle and cousin will finally reach Harlem, as I
was told they wanted to do so many years ago, as well as roam rest of
the world, defending the defenseless and killing the cruel as they see fit.
 
 
Thanks fellas,
I hope I make both of you proud.
Chapter 1

A Change Is Gonna Come



 
The thunder is rambunctious and powerful, clapping overhead as if God himself has found the devil, beating his eternal archenemy to a pulp. A well deserved pummel indeed.
The surrounding woods are silent except for thunder and loneliness. Night and rain shrouding everything in wet slick misery.
 
 
In a small house, built and rebuilt, simple in its humble style, a man sits alone.
In the one room shack, neat and orderly; one bed, a night table, a breakfast nook, as well as a wood burning stove, the young man smiles at his own solitude.
 
 
As he sits alone, drinking down another shot of whiskey, the stranger looks to his right. Catching his reflection in makeshift mirror.
Brown skinned and handsome, his fine hair combed back, wet from a tub bath. The young thug seems to be mesmerized by his own reflection, though his mind is on other things.
 
“Sexy negro,”he smiles.
 
 
Amused, glad for the peace, the young mulatto man pours another shot of relief. Downing the alcohol with a wince, he feels the whisky burn its way to a gut already filled with hot food from a woman whom has just left.
 
 
Pleased with himself, hands falling between his legs, leading down. The hustler feels his own healthy heavy sexual ambition through his boxers. Half limp yet still throbbing. The creole is still fixated on the sex he just had.
 
 
Rising, buzzed with liquor and good love, the young man makes his way over to the heap of discarded clothes as rain pummels a window nearby. Scanning the days worth of laundry, the handsome thug spies a small delight.
 
 
Smiling, grinning ear to ear, the half naked roughen lifts a pair of silk undergarments to his nose, taking a long luxurious whiff of heaven.
“ Sweet Pussy Sally ,” the hunk smiles.
Instantly he feels his hard on jump, needing more attention.
“Naw-tha’ wasn't nuf’. Need mo' pussy,” the man grins.
 
 
Chuckling, the handsome hustler looks over to his makeshift closet. A hanging rack of finery that should be in the grandest of wardrobes.
“Bette's husband’s away on business.”
Thinking about the chocolate beauty and her particular gift, the creole grins as he takes another whiff of the panties.
“Yeah, she’ll do jus’ nice,” the young man grins.
 
 
Laughing softly, the sexy thug hears his own words.
“Benjamin Beaulieu, yo’ creole crazy ass gon' get shot up sum'thin fuck’in awful.”
" ‘Specially if her limp dick’d husban’d find me all up in tha’ sweet pussy.”
 
 
Benjamin chuckles at his own thoughts, picturing the short men catching him in mid-stroke. Bette moaning to the high heavens. The thug instantly wonders what he would do as he laughs out loud.
 
 
Taking another whiff of the pink panties, purposely left of course by a woman whom sees the killer as a sure fascination, even a death wish. Benjamin laughs.
“Damn-dat’ woman is gon’ git me kill’d yeah ....shiiiiit.”
“Not if otha’s get thu’r blade in mi’ first.”
 
 
Needing another shot as his fine silk boxers tent forth, Benjamin drops the panties on the heap of clothes. The creole looks over to his right, seeing a suit and a pair of fine shoes. On the right wall sits two stylish fedoras.
“Perfect,” Benjamin grins.
 
 
Suddenly, a loud knock booms through the shack, shaking the air drying stud to his core. Ominous and unexpected.
Especially since nobody knows of is his 'love shack' , but his lovers.
 
 
“Who tha’ fuck is that?,” Benjamin almost whispers, not moving a ste