Devil's Tears

M.C. Dutton

Description

My name is Michael Angelo, Angel to those who know me. I was born in the greatest city in the world, Chicago. My Ma, Maria Angelo, never knew exactly my date of birth or even the year. She worked in down town Chicago as a prostitute until she copped Syphilis. There was no father and at 9 years old I became the major breadwinner. I was good at what I did to earn money but conning uptown people out of a few cents and stealing food off stalls didn't amount to much. It did bring me to the attention of the club owner, Alfredo Tarrantinni. I might still be alive if I had stayed away from the club, but then I wouldn't have met Clemmie. Chicago was fun, and as a small boy I took the fear factor in my stride. When I grew up it became more deadly and Tony, my nemesis, was always looking to finish what he had started. He wanted me dead.Just when I had got to that point where life was on a roll; I had the job, the respect, the money and the girl, in a split second it was all gone. The Guardians made me an Angel. Me, an Angel? I would have laughed but it wasn't funny. They said I had to help Clemmie. Now I would do anything for Clemmie but what they asked me to do was tough. I argued and fought them at every point along the way. They kept the truth from me but I found out the hard way. Tony was close by and now I hunted him and wanted him dead and burning in hell. I wanted to keep Clemmie safe and with me, they wanted something else. Someone had to be the winner.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 27 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803133843
• Langue: English

Extrait

The
Devil’s Tears

Copyright © 2008 M.C.Dutton
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador Unit E2 Airfield Business Park Harrison Road, Market Harborough Leicestershire, LE16 7UL Tel: [phone] / 9312 Email: [e-mail] Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador Twitter: https://twitter.com/matadorbooks
ISBN 978 1803133 843
A Cataloguing-in-Publication (CIP) catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
As a new author there were times of self doubt. It takes special people to carry you through these times. I should therefore like to dedicate my book to those very special and important people.
Special thanks to my children and grandchildren:
Helen, Ben, Isabella and Kiera Richard, Amanda, Rebecca, Josh and Thomas, Andrew, Nansel and Bradley LUA xxxx
Special thanks to Richard Charles for his valuable and motivational creative help
Special thanks to Pam Cumberworth for her explosive, expletive enthusiasm
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Part Two
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
CHAPTER ONE
Capture
The Guardians peered down intensely at him, they tried unsuccessfully to sit back and wait until he had calmed down but each were agitated and their tutting and groaning and mutterings of oh dear just increased the tension around. They asked each other why he was panicking so much and why he just didn’t sit still and wait. He was like a wasp in a jam jar, all fury and posture but nowhere to go, he was beaten, they asked why he couldn’t see that for himself. They found it so frustrating; Their hands were tied, and they were not able to help him at that moment. They were desperate to calm him down to make him feel at ease and safe, this was too horrible to endure. The Guardians questioned their role, over and over again in bringing him here. That, alone, had been a difficult and scary time in the no mans land of the lost. They were considered experts in this line of work but each time was different and held perils not experienced before. The anguish of seeing him so scared and fighting made them wish they had an easier role.
After what seemed ages, and to their immense relief, they could see he was beginning to calm down. He had used up all his energy and stood slightly swaying and breathing deeply and fast, they were fearful he was on the point of collapse and they could do nothing for him. They knew in the end it was for the best, that he would be all right, but they hated seeing any being in such distress. They were the Guardians and mistakes were rare, but they wondered if he would be up to the challenge. It was a deep worry for them. They would help him as best they could but, and it was a big but, they were very aware that he had to succeed. Again they questioned if he was the man for the job? It required that he felt a deep bond with her, that was not a concern to them, but a calm, clear head, and an understanding of events was definitely going to be a problem. Looking at him fighting every inch of the way, exhausted now, but still defiant, swearing and shouting at thin air, they were very sceptical, and a little depressed at the thought that he may not be up to the challenge.
***
He was in a strange room and he couldn’t remember how he had got here. Where he was before he couldn’t remember, all he knew with certainty was it wasn’t this place. He was scared and panicking and all his senses were geared up ready to fight, but there was nothing to fight. After rushing round and raising enough adrenaline to fuel an army, he ran out of breath, energy and hope. He was sick of never feeling in control, never quite knowing what was going to happen next.
Now he had stopped rushing around he realised the saying “ blind panic ” meant just that, he had seen nothing, knew nothing. He looked around and tried to note where he was, to see if anything was familiar. He had never experienced a place like this. It could only be described as white but that was not right. It was stunningly bright but it did not hurt his eyes. He had to make some sense of all this. Something, someone, wanted him to stay here and he was going to have none of it. He was no sheep to be led to the slaughter. He was confused about everything but he was sure about one thing, this was not right. He wasn’t sure what he wanted or where he wanted to be, but it certainly was not here. Whatever might be trying to disorientate him he would fight it and keep control. He was Michael Angelo, Angel to his friends and these bastards would not get their way. He stood still, fists clenched, legs apart he was ready for anything.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to start again, slowly and calmly. This area, he knew it must be a room but the light didn’t give it any shape. There were no corners or angles and his vision wasn’t able to penetrate further than 4 metres in any direction. It was spookily still, his heart pounded loudly jostling for sound space with his breathing. He shouted “Hello” but nothing bounced back at him. Like a thick fog it absorbed the sound. At this point he fought again for control of his senses, as he started to descend into that state of panic which made the hairs on his body stand to attention. He badly wanted to scratch his arms. Again he looked around and he knew this place was all wrong. His breathing, which had nearly returned to normal, was descending again into that deep and fast rhythm which would trigger the dizzy feeling.
He moved forward, fists clenched, his legs screamed at the command to run faster, they wobbled and strained at the weight they had to carry. After what seemed an age, he stopped, his legs buckling through exhaustion and his lungs losing the battle to get enough air. He looked around and saw nothing had changed. He knew he had run for longer than he had ever run before, but everything still looked the same. His hands extended out in front of him, but there was nothing to touch and the room, damn it! He knew it was a room, had no edges. Just as he was about to be overwhelmed with more fear than his brain could hold, he saw a chair. It was the first solid thing he had seen and it had the effect of relaxing him. He went to the chair, touched it and felt how thick and firm the wood felt. Memories of people, sounds and smells hung in a hazy mist, tantalisingly and frustratingly just out of his reach. His eyes pricked and he could feel tears very close to spilling.
He thought he heard but realised he felt someone tell him to sit down. He was hot and tired and surprisingly emotional and for a second all he wanted to do was sit and rest. But then, of course, that was how they wanted him to feel, he was getting angry now; and wanted to know why They were playing games with him. He looked around and shouted at the fog, “Who the hell do you think you are telling me to do anything you, fuck you and go to hell.”
He could feel the rage boiling inside him and the last thing he was going to do was sit down for those scum suckers. He stood swaying for sometime, then a warm, yellow cloud engulfed his senses and a sense of calm overtook him. The rage dispersed and he decided, on reflection, he was tired, “so what the hell”, he told himself he could do with the rest, he knew that was his decision not theirs. He needed his strength to fight them and he chose to sit down. The chair felt good, the ache in his back and legs felt easier. He felt mesmerised and comfortable his eyes focussed ahead and all he could hear was his own urgent breathing.
Something was going to happen. The tension in the air and a muffled quiet sound in the distance, like an orchestra tuning up for the start of a show made him alert and ready for what was to come. His frustration was that with knowledge of everything so close he could almost taste it, but with every snatch it sidestepped him just out of reach. Acceptance was part of his new existence. He still had a problem with that. Everything had to be learned the hard way. He looked around, took a deep breath and shouted defiantly, “Fuck you!” He knew it wouldn’t make any difference but it made him feel good. He promised himself that they, whoever they were, would not have everything their own way.
The Guardians watching him sighed. This all felt so unnecessary, they wanted to tell him everything but he would never cope with it at the moment. There was so much to learn, all they could hope for was that in time, he would understand and work with them. The inner film would start playing soon. Hemust watch, learn and remember. With his resistance on hold, he waited as the film rewound and started over a lifetime ago.
He sat up straight and looked at what was a big screen ahead of