MY SERIALIZED THRILLER
(WHAT COULD THIS BLOG POSSIBLY BE ABOUT?)
Hello! if you haven’t heard, my blog is changing. It’s not gonna be random anymore.
It’s going to be a serialized thriller.
(Oh, the blog is a serialized thriller. I never would have guessed!)
The story will unfold over time. Each post will be another chapter.
I’ll add a new installment every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Like the old pulp magazines.
This is the third chapter.
YESTERDAY ON CRIME RING
Charlie’s life was being threatened by his estranged wife when the police arrived to arrest him. Charlie followed his wife’s lead and dove off the pier into the ocean water.
Barely able to survive in the frigid, murky, blue, Charlie is lucky to make it to a beach, where he collapses. The gunshot wound in his thigh is on fire, his whole body is aching from his hard fall onto the rickety wooden pier. Charlie is trying to catch his breath when his wife sits down beside him. She’s also soaking wet, dripping with sea water.
His wife says, “Next time, Charlie. How about you let me steal the ring with you?”
Charlie becomes woozy and then everything goes black.
And now, Crime Ring continues….
My Serialized Thriller
CHARLIE was dreaming. He was tumbling inside a commercial dryer. The big ones you see at the laund-ro-mat.
He was trapped and couldn’t push the door open. There were people watching the dryer; they could see him through the glass. He tried called to them.
But they couldn’t hear him. And they didn’t look like they cared he was trapped in the dryer.
He kept tumbling and tumbling. The noise constant.
And then he started to wake up.
Charlie found himself in a dark, confined space, kinda like the dryer. But he wasn’t tumbling. He was laying down.
The smell of car exhaust was biting at his nose. There was a constant tremble of motion.
Gina put me in the truck of a car.
He went to bang on the lid, but he couldn’t. His hands were bound with duct tape.
But his legs were free.
Thank you, Jesus.
Charlie tried to shift position and when he did molten lava ran through his veins, reminding him of the gunshot wound in his thigh.
Where is Gina taking me?
But Charlie knew that wherever he was going, it wasn’t good.
The car began to slow. Charlie wiggled and bounced across the scratchy black floor lining of the trunk. There was a faint red glow from the headlights. He kicked with his feet, turned sideways pushing himself along to the back of the trunk.
He was looking for the trunk release; a florescent t-pull that had been put into cars in recent years for his very predicament.
There wasn’t one.
The right blinker began ticking. Each tick meant a tiny bit more light.
The car came to a stop, then turned to the right. It was on pavement. But that pavement didn’t last long. Gravel began to crunch under the tires. Dust seeped into the trunk. Charlie covered his nose so he wouldn’t sneeze.
The car continued and Charlie’d had enough. He began kicking the back of the rear seat as hard as he could.
“Let me the fuck out of here!”
The car slowed.
Charlie got his shoulders pressed against the back of the trunk to give him leverage so he could pound the rear seat with both his feet – like Superman bending his knees and launching himself into the sky.
“LET ME OUT!”
The pain in his wounded thigh ripped through him again. But it just fueled his anger
The car was at a full stop and he heard the driver’s door open and close.
In rapid succession, his fifth kick cracked the plastic barrier, his sixth made it explode into pieces, his seventh knocked the back seat down flat.
Charlie was scrambling as best he could into the back seat.
The truck lid opened and a male voice yelled, “Hey!”
Yelling “Hey” wasn’t going to stop him. What did the guy think, Charlie would freeze, scooch back toward him, and give up.
You said Hey, so I surrender.
“Stop!” the guy yelled.
Oh no! You said Stop! I have to surrender now!
Charlie was trying to push himself through the gap between the passenger and driver’s seat. The plan was to somehow get twisted around so he could start the car (If the keys were in the ignition. Who’s the idiot now?), and drive with his hands bound in duct tape, getting away and leaving the guy behind who was reaching after him through the trunk.
But the genius behind “Hey” and “Stop” had a breakthrough. He backed out of the trunk, slammed it closed, ran around and jerked open the back door.
Charlie had his back to the dude, so he couldn’t defend himself. Charlie used his legs to quickly push himself back, again the pain, hoping the back of his head would smack the guy in the face, and the force of Charlie’s body weight would knock the guy down.
Charlie got pulled out of the car. The guy slammed Charlie to the ground and kicked him for good measure.
Charlie pushed himself up with this bound hands, kicked his assailant in the shin, much like the Black Knight in Monty Python and The Holy Grail, and took off hobbling as fast as he could.
He ran straight off the road and feel down into a deep slimy ditch. Charlie found himself face down in about six inches of water. He stood up quickly, sputtering, and started hop-skip running again.
“Hey!” he heard from the road.
He kept running into the blackness.
To be continued….
MONDAY ON CRIME RING
Charlie crouched in the weeds, listening to the men searching.
There were five of them. Ten yards between them. Flashlights sweeping.
“I got something over here,” one of The Professionals called out.
Charlie was screwed.
He hoped they wouldn’t make him suffer.
DON’T MISS CHAPTERS FOUR, FIVE, AND SIX NEXT WEEK.
MORE THRILLS, ACTION, SUSPENSE, AND MYSTERY