Red Stripes by Matt Hilton

Author:Matt Hilton [Matt Hilton]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, General, Short Stories (Single Author), Action & Adventure, Suspense
ISBN: 9781444766868
Google: qGqZ6oUYJhwC
Amazon: B00AJ1ZJY2
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2013-03-14T07:00:00+00:00

It was apparent soon enough why John Crow came after me and it had little to do with any monetary loss he’d suffered from losing his hostages.

He was a man who had to show his strength and ferocity in order that he held those under him in control. His lighter skin marked him out as a white nyega—his words not mine—and he’d possibly suffered some of the inherent racism found in the Rastafarian movement on his rise to the top. His nickname, an expression of hatred, confirmed that point. Possibly he felt that he had to lead by example, and in doing so he had to be more brutal than men who were happy chopping off the fingers of rich white kids. He had to show he wasn’t a man to be crossed, not if he intended holding on to the respect he’d earned.

But as potentially dangerous as he was, he also proved honorable in a way many other criminals weren’t.

He told his baldy friend to stand by and do nothing but watch. He said that if I beat him in fair combat then our beef was done with. Or at least that’s what I translated from the patois that flew between them.

The baldy wasn’t happy, but fuck him. He was about as trustworthy as Hector Wallace, who I’d pinned to a door frame with a machete weeks earlier. He looked as if he wouldn’t be content until the same had happened to me, and given the opportunity he’d try to stick me with a blade the second my back was turned. To show him the folly of such an idea, I pulled out my SIG from my waistband and laid it on an upturned oil drum across the room from him. He noted the gun, but he also seemed more concerned with the long finger that John Crow wagged at him. Earlier I’d heard him use the term Obeah. It was something that I knew translated as a curse—the magic kind—and it seemed he believed his own boast that John Crow was some kind of wizard or voodoo man.

He stood down, slouching against the wall nearest the door we’d come in. He folded his lean arms across his chest, and I could see them twitching as if they longed to wield a machete instead of lying idle.

John Crow came forward, pulling off his shirt.

He was tall and slim, but his frame was built from tight bands of lean muscle. On his chest were three livid scars. It looked as if the talons of some large bird had clawed him. They’d healed, but the scar tissue was red against his mocha skin. From the angle of the cuts, they could have been self-inflicted: perhaps they had something to do with his Obeah beliefs, or with his nickname, or even some kind of atonement punishment, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t ask. John Crow shook out his shoulders.

I didn’t bother with any fancy stuff, no loosening up exercises. But I did pull off my shirt.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.