Here I am once more with another of my reader’s prompts. This week I am doing a “flash” on a sentence contributed by my good buddy and one of the Top One Hundred Writer’s Digest Blogs … Anne R. Allen. If you don’t already follow her blog, you should begin immediately or sooner.
I must admit I was pleased to see that so many of you gave me prompts that lend themselves to mystery and suspense. It’s a fun hapenstance even if not by design … ’cause we all know I love murder and mayhem.
There are dozens of books with Murder and Mayhem as the title or noted within the title. This is one that was featured on a blog called Rita Reviews.
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And for your reading pleasure, this is Anne’s sentence. Hope you enjoy …
They killed the last one yesterday …
Dayton Lloyd stood at the end of the dock, the wind and rain beating against the sea wall. He begged it to wash away the overpowering odor of burnt flesh that mingled in the air with the sickening sweet scents of burnt sugar. How did an Oxford man find himself standing next to an abandoned candy factory in a place they called Brooklyn?
How had he been drawn into this man hunt and the systematic destruction of human flesh? When he joined the agency he truly believed he would be doing God’s work, that the will of the Almighty had grappled him into submission. “Serve or die.”
Yes, he had served. And a total of twelve humans had died. He had questioned his superiors, told them he believed what the Americans called a Black Op had backfired and they were being used in a cover up.
“Do your job, Lloyd.”
He heard Bethany behind him and turned. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“I needed to see for myself.” She walked closer and stood next to him, her hand finding his.”Is it finally over?”
“To be sure. They killed the last one yesterday.”
“I don’t trust that American. There’s something about him. Like he thinks he’s the Godfather.”
Dayton laughed. “No, not the Godfather. He thinks he’s Elliot Ness.”
“This fire was a bit of overkill even for him.”
“I suppose. But he waxes towards melodrama,” he said. “Some guy they own in the Fire Department will claim the corpse was a derelict hiding in the factory to get in out of the rain.”
“Bloody hell.” She looked around. “This Brooklyn is a nasty place, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t judge if the whole of Brooklyn was as nasty as narrow alleys and rotting buildings near these docks. It didn’t matter. He missed home, wanted to get out to make it home for his son’s birthday.
“Not to worry. With any luck we’ll land at Heathrow by morning.”
“I don’t believe he was the last.”
They had traveled across the ocean and spanned two continents to seek and destroy the destructors. No major armed forces needed. This battle was covert, non public. And although they were assured this last one would be the end, Dayton knew there would always be another to take his place.
Dayton was told the news headlines would read, Unknown Arsonists Burns Down Abandoned Candy Factory. “Brooklyn, the damn Feds. I’ve had it with the lot of them.”
They stood for a long time, hearing the rumble of far off thunder, feeling the fine mist from the waters of the Brooklyn Narrows.
***
Anthony Petrillo watched the two agents brought in from across the pond. He didn’t trust the British. They still thought they had some kind of hold on the colonies. His eyes darted from the burning building to the two at the end of the dock.
His cell buzzed. “Yeah boss?”
“You remember the call of Paul Revere?”
“Look, I’m tired and I need to get home. My kid is receiving his First Holy Communion this afternoon.”
“Paul Revere made that famous call …The British are coming.”
“I told you last week, we didn’t need them to come over here and play James Bond and Mrs. Peal.”
“Just remember what we did to them that night. Then go make a good Confession and take Communion with your son.”
Lloyd and the girl were busy reporting back to London when Petrillo got the first call. “Take his weapon before you start the slow burn.”
Now he knew why. “War is hell.”
“Do your job, Petrillo.”
***
The caller turned to his superior and told him. “That was Petrillo in Brooklyn, Sir. Sorry to report, the two Brits were killed before he could get there.”
“Damn shame.” He snubbed out his Cuban cigar. “I’ll call London and tell them to expect them at Heathrow by morning.”
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Tell me if you please … Do you love a good mystery?
Are you a hopeless romantic?
Or perhaps you go both ways?
