A Death in Jerusalem (Adam Lapid Mysteries Book 7) by Jonathan Dunsky

Author:Jonathan Dunsky [Dunsky, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Cub Publishing
Published: 2022-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

23

Like lightning on a summer day, it was unexpected and quick. One second I was ambling peacefully on a quiet street; the next I was under assault. The only warning was the sudden thump of running footsteps from behind and a barked command, "Get him!"

My wandering mind and my pocketed hands contributed to my slow reaction. I had barely gotten my hands out and was turning around when something hard struck me across the upper back, just below the neck.

They had picked the right spot. A stretch of dark sidewalk on a block made up of garages, small factories, and shuttered workshops. No residential buildings. No one about.

The blow pitched me forward. Somehow, I managed to block the fall and remain on one knee. I turned my head, saw two shadowy figures standing over me with cloth covering their faces. They were holding something in their hands. Clubs, short and thick. A third man, his face obscured as well, stood a little apart. By his head movements, I could tell he was scanning the street, making sure no one had witnessed the attack. Satisfied, he approached as well, similarly armed.

Waves of pain coruscated down my back and up into my head. My spine felt jarred, my muscles lacking substance. "What are you—" I started to say, but before I could finish the sentence, one of the men landed a hard kick into my stomach. The other whacked me across the back of one thigh with his club. Now I was prone, the asphalt scratchy against the side of my face. I had trouble drawing in breath. The pressure in my chest was torture. I wanted to tell them to take my money and let me be. But before I could utter a syllable, another smack came, another kick, and then another. All I could do was let out choked groans and whimpers as the assailants, all three of them now, rained blows and kicks upon me. Pretty soon, I couldn't even do that. All I did was curl a little and tuck my head in as far as I could, in a feeble attempt to protect my vital organs.

The barrage of blows continued unabated. My body was like a boiling cauldron, each popping bubble an explosion of pain. They hit my legs, my buttocks, my stomach, my back, my head. It was as though they wanted to mark every inch of me.

I wanted to scream for help, but I hadn't the air. A great pressure squeezed my head, as though a giant boot was stamping ever harder on it. My eyes were shut, but pinpricks of light exploded across the lightless backdrop of my vision. Then a deeper darkness crept in, like a black sheet pulled over a corpse on a pathologist's table. It gobbled up not just the pinpricks of light, but also the grunts of the men pummeling me and the sickening thuds of the blows as they landed. It devoured the smell of dirt and oil filling my nostrils.

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