Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Guns - Knives - Love

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Giving up guns was easy, giving up my knives was ease, but love, I'd never give up on love. In Rio de Janeiro I was meeting a new client. She'd expressed interest in purchasing my priceless Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace. The Latin women are an exception to the engaging rules of womanly beauty, especially Brazilian woman, when waxing their muffs had created their own Brazilian style of beauty between their legs.

Was I up for selling the necklace? You bet I was up in more ways than one when we met near the slick beach of Ipanema, in the South Zone of the city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Shapely as in bikini shapely, beautiful as in gorgeous with long flowing black silky hair to her waist, long slim arms and legs, lips as puffy as Angelina Jolie's, but that body was inside an see-through white tank-top, black shorts and bare-footed. As long as she was in possession of a bag full of ten thousand American dollars, without a gun or knife, and without snipers hiding as tourists, I was fine with exchanging the fake Michelangelo necklace for the dollars and not the Brazilian real.

We exchanged the gifts. Inside the bag was the ten grand and a piece of paper with her name, address and phone number legibly printed on it. Inside my black felt bag was the fake necklace and a whisper, which she couldn't hear, but my whisper profession my love for her, no matter where and no matter when. I wanted to be her new boyfriend, snuggle between her legs, kiss her endearing body and explain the significance of cosmological attraction she has on me.

That would have to be some other time because if I didn't exit, any second I could be killed by a sniper. Her red lips puckered, one dark eye blinked and he lips formed the words, I'll fuck you anytime, any day, anywhere, just tell me now.

"At my hotel tonight," I said, and of course she was lying, and I'd given her a fake hotel.

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Death to Cosmology

Alexander Crown Trilogy

He staged his razor-sharp EMT Tac-Force 3 inch knife blade over my heart, yet cosmolog factors were in my favor.

My ears bled from his fierce laugh. The  tip of the blade pierced my skin. The wooden desk was warm under my naked torso. I jerked the tight plastic ties that were around my wrists and ankles and tagged to the legs of the desk.

He started carving a large heart around where my living heart two inches below pumped life-sustain blood to the rest of my body. I assumed he wanted me to scream and kick and threaten to kill him. I'd assumed a lot during my lifetime. This time that's exactly want he wanted me to do. Instead, I cringed, tears filled my eyes and I watched while he carved a childish heart into my skin as if drawing with an ink pen. He wasn't an artist that's for sure.

Iktar and his two muscled cronies took me hostage, or rather captured me. With a paper bag over my head they stuffed me inside a Mercedes SUV, drove for fifteen minutes and tucked me away inside a type of warehouse in Rijeka, Croatia.

He was after my priceless Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace. Carving me up or killing me for it weren't issues. He wanted the necklace to establish self-esteem and promote his exploits to whomever. Luckily I had neither the real necklace nor a replica  on me. Unfortunately Iktar, the infamous thief, child molester, rapist and killer was beginning his unique torture on me.

The blade went deeper into my skin. The large heart was taking shape. Warm blood pooled around my solar lexis, and then trickled down the left side of my chest. Iktar soaked up my blood with a white hankie. His bodyguards grimaced at me as if they sympathized with my pain.

A guard's cellphone rang. He answered and listened. He touched Iktar shoulder and whispered in his ear. All action stopped. Iktar wiped his knife, folded and pocketed it.

"You're one lucky mother-fucker, Alexander Crown," Iktar said, his voice a whisper of hatred. He put a blossoming, fresh cut red rose on my stomach.

They left me plastic tied to the desk, bleeding and aching but not crying. My extreme anger prevented me from crying. I positioned the small pocket knife I had in my hand, flicking it open with the assisted switch and cut the plastic wrap on my right wrist. The escape was easy. Stopping the bleeding was difficult. I took Iktar's hankie he'd left on my stomach beside the rose and pressed it against my new exterior heart.

Thirty minutes later with the rose between my lips at the Klinički bolnički centar Rijeka, with thirty stitches enclosing my wound I left the medical center and headed for the airport. Iktar the thief, child molester, rapist and killer wasn't going to escape my fury, not now, not ever.

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Piraeus Athens Marina

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Here's some perspective of what this affair was about. It was a venomous construction crew of ten chasing me, and I ran like hell to escape their would be roughhousing like punching and kicking, knifing me and knocking me out. Once I was on the ground and awake at the Piraeus Athens marina, they would torture me by pulling out my fingernails with pliers from the directions of Iktar Stanktar, my arch enemy. If I didn't tell them where my Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace was by that time, by virtue of my moral virtue, they would pop my balls one at a time by pinching them with the same fucking pliers, perhaps even cut open my crotch and let the mess of human reproductive tissue drip from my crotch.

I wouldn't be able to scream because they would duck tape my mouth. They wouldn't stop there, they would then start pulling out my front teeth with the same bloody fucking pliers, poke my eardrums with an icepick and start breaking each finger, each of the ten muscle men taking turns enjoying their deconstruction of my hands.

None of that has happened. You see, I was the fastest runner being the track star in college, being number one out of one hundred fifty in my Task Force Black Ops training in my mid-twenties. Even if this crew caught me I'd have the upper hand in offensive maneuvers because I never take the defense. That's when a winner looses.

I was to meet an unknown buyer near slip 6, we'd exchange packages. His would have ten thousand Euros inside and mine would contain the necklace, a fake one, but of course you know that already. We'd part ways, him walking in one direction and me going the opposite way. But, after this exchange his nine cronies and Iktar beat a path around a building corner and came flying at me.

Iktar knew I handed over a fake necklace, he's intuitive and sneaky and a killer of men, women and children, as well as a rapist and thief of souls. With bag in hand I ran like a cheetah, my heels barely touching the pavement, my arms pumping, my head up and torso atop spinning-wheel legs around one corner of a building and then another corner. I always have an exit plan or two, knowing my assailants were stupid they wouldn't suspect that I'd have at least one escape route.

My black crotch-rocket Kawasaki was fifteen steps away around the corner of a third building when I suddenly stopped, breathless and in awe of the woman standing beside it. Christ, she was that gorgeous FBI bitch Wild Winters. There was a time when we could have been lovers, she with her guns and badges, me with my muscles and hands...we'd have made the perfect fucking couple on the other side of the Atlantic. Even thought it wasn't in the cards I'd put the sex on her anyway.

Snapping my leg over the Kawasaki, Wild Winters didn't try to stop me, actually she smiled and pointed the way I should go; around the corner and up the slanted hillside. I revved up the motorcycle, slapped a kiss on her cheek and sped off in the opposite directions, fifty-feet ahead I U-turned and sped away in a third direction, knowing that Winters' cronies would have the first two exits covered.

As I made headway from the Athens marina I topped my bike out at eighty MPH and settled in for the ride of my life with ten thousand euros stashed inside my leather jacket, an erection just thinking about screwing Wild Winters and an appetite for a tasty piece of lobster tail.

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Monday, June 22, 2015

Accidental Kill - Accidental Love

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Paradise lost and, paradise found again. Lost and found is both less and more than it can be. Is love lost and then found again more than it can be? I want to think so.

Love is a powerful weapon, it can work for you or against you. This time, love was definitely my strongest weapon working for me.

My problem was; either be killed or kill and be done with it. All victims have parents, possibly a sister or brother, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, and so do the perpetrators. The person getting killed is much less a victim as are the relatives and friends. They have to live with the death of their loved one, perhaps haunting them or possibly it could be a 'good riddance', whatever the situation, after somebody dies or gets killed, we remember and cry and laugh and then mourn, except for the killer. The killer only laughs.

He wasn't so handsome, nor was he debonair, yet he had an air of sophistication James Bond could use in social situations. I was somewhat of a Ninja fighter but he got the best of me, his right forearm around my neck, my left arm twisted behind my back. How could that be, I didn't kowtow to anyone, not even in the sights of a sniper. I bent over, lifted the middleweight killer on my back, grabbed his right leg underneath him and shoved backward. We fell, him on his back me on top of him. I forced the backside of my cranium in to his tightened jaw. It snapped and cracked, his head also cracked on the cement, and then he relaxed his grip and fell away. I jumped to my feet.

The sun had just set in an alleyway in Munich. My killer and I were two lonely men who had confronted each other, our minds and bodies our only weapons. I hated guns and knives, as apparently he did, so we fought to the death, him trying to kill me and me, only trying incapacitate him.

His neck artery was static. His face was now crooked. His body afloat in death, and my wet eyes were suddenly filled with anxiety. Explaining my emotions was rudimentary yet the circumstances called for me exiting the alley, leaving the area far behind me as fast as possible without drawing notice.

Who was I but pawn in a world of kings, a man full of anxiety trying to help orphaned children, robbing the wealthy, and scoring with a chick whenever a situation arises. The man wanted me to give him my Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace without him paying me for it. That was unacceptable.

My walk along the crowded sidewalk was filled with self-anger. My thoughts were depressed, the world around me distant, a piece of earth quietly eating away time until...until she bumped into me...purposely bumped into me. We both stopped, turned to face each other.

The beautiful redhead spit in my face. I grabbed both her arms and pulled her into a tight, deep kiss. She struggled, her taste of peaches something to die for, my sweat and anger something to live for.

I held onto her steadfast. My back fell against the brick building. Pedestrians angled around us. I took her rear with both hands and pulled her tightly against my groin. She protested but didn't try to escape. Our bodies rubbed together, we continued to kiss until a few seconds later she forcefully withdrew. I let her go.

She stepped away her eyes glued to mine, and then with great effort her arm came up like a tornado and she slapped me harder than I'd ever been slapped.

"Who the hell are you?" I said, holding my jaw.

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Father's Day

Alexander Crown Trilogy

On one particular day when I was young, I loved my dad on Father's Day, and then he knocked out my front teeth with a crowbar. I asked him to forgive me, and then I forgave him, and he gave me $10.00 dollars. I loved my dad and I hated my dad. We forgave each other, and now he's gone, dead, dead-man-walking who took away my most prized possession; my front teeth.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Blood Beach Portugal

Alexander Crown Trilogy
"Vitruvian Man"

This isn't  about Portugal, the southern European country on the Iberian Peninsula, that borders Spain and the Atlantic Ocean, where the ocean-side location influences aspects of its culture – but it's about the Algarve's beaches that are major tourists destinations, where sunbathers gather, where a deadly sharpshooter can perform, where someone will dearly pay the price of extinction.

One beach in particular, in Cascais, on this hot day where I was about to score was my destination.

The thrill of what is forbidden is...THRILLING. That's my MO (Modus Operandi). For those in question of definition, MO is a distinct pattern of operation that suggests the work of a single criminal in more than one crime. Some people consider me a criminal, others consider me a philanthropist. Either definition is open to discussion with which how I conduct my missions of money gathering, my romantic life and the worst yet, my social life...of what there is to it. Social I'm mostly not, sexual, if you entice me to believe in it then I'm the best Karma Sutra lover. As far as my missions go, I don't kill, I incapacitate, and if you've been following me around, especially on this blog, you know about me and understand what I do is for the benefit of my children in my orphanage in Cape Town, South Africa.

Once again on a beach in Cascais, Portugal, because it's a gorgeous place to be and because I have a residence here. You can read about that in my "Vitruvian Man" exploits. This beach is overlooking many glorious sail boats, which I love to go sailing. My bikini clad contact waited for my arrival. She's the one with the red and white stripped top sunbathing in the middle of all the other women sunbathers. I surmised several of the other beauties adorned in bikinis , are her co-workers, presumably to catch a thief and that thief would be me.

For me getting caught would have to be voluntary on my part. I can't afford to get caught ripping off people, not that I would steal from anybody. I only steal from the wealthy, not actually steal but borrow because the wealthy can afford being taken advantage of. This contact is supposedly working for Europe Intel based in Madrid, but I had information otherwise supplied to me by my jewelry forger Mr. Chow Yen who lives in Venice.

My contact jumped to her feet, grabbed her bag and ran at me like I was her long lost lover. How she knew I was here I didn't know. I set my stance, glanced around for interference and set my personal defenses on alert. She stopped to my side six feet away. None of the other sunbathers took notice, but I focused over her shoulder on the closest sailboat. A woman stood on deck, with either a telescope or a high-powered rifle in her arms that was aimed at me.

"Your gift of Euros," her delicate, gorgeous American accent hit my ears.
I stepped to my side and stood directly in front of her out of the sight of the rifle on the sailboat.
"Thank you," I said, and pulled a small felt bag from my shirt breast pocket. "Your gift of jewelry."
We exchanged our gifts. She quickly stepped aside. I followed. She ducked. I ducked, staying with her every move. She twisted left then right. I heard a zing past by my head with a cold trail behind it.

I twisted to my left and ducked just as she fell into my arms...dead as hammer, a hole in the back of her head. As I dragged her up the beach a few more zings passed by our heads and bodies until I disappeared behind a rock out of the sight of the rifle.

My contact was a gorgeous brunette, well-endowed and perky lips. I quickly sprawled her out on the sand as if she were a sleeping sunbather. I snatch my felt bag out of her clinch, and with her bag of euros, of which I'd examined that they were actually euros, I vamoosed up the hillside to my crotch-rocket.

The day was still young, and the forbidden thrill was still...THRILLING.

Alexander Crown Trilogy
"Vitruvian Man"

Monday, June 15, 2015

Death at Sea

Alexander Crown Trilogy

Death isn't funny, hahaha. It's the ultimate indifference of death that's serious. Someone dies, someone cries, and then, life goes on.

A cathartic sensation drown my intention...but just for one moment, and then I laughed it off as we raced across the sea in the sleek racing yacht Ibiza. What was that intention you might ask? I had decided to drown the fool, the Russian Prince who wanted to purchase my Michelangelo necklace. The creep was a self-made idiot, trying to assimilate trusting American values with what I had assumed was his chaotic Russian aggression.

We'd met just before sunset sailing on a fabulous yacht on the Adriatic Sea near Dubrovnik, Croatia. We stood on the fore of the deck, Lee Bronovov with his paper bag filled with ten thousand Euros and me with my black felt bag containing a fake necklace supposedly designed and crafted by Michelangelo over 500 years ago.

Three miles off shore Bronovov and I exchanged gifts. He put the felt bag in his front jean pocket. I held the bag tightly while I inspected its contents. The Euros were inside with a note. I pulled out the note and read it. 'Dear Mr. Fool, Here is the money you demanded and now you must die.

Bronovov laughed, pulled a Lugar pistol from the backside of his pants and jammed it in my neck, but not before I read the note, and not before I did something else. While reading the note, I pulled my Tac Force TF-434 three inch shard blade assisted opening folding knife from my back pocket. The Russian didn't see it coming. I jammed my trusty knife in Bronovov's neck before he could pull the trigger on his pistol. I dropped the bag of money on the deck and caught Bronovov's body in mid-air and shoved him overboard in the beautiful feisty sea. After a few seconds watching him get sucked in the abyss of blue and black below with the yacht sailing away. I reported to the captain we had a man overboard.

The greatest contrition that engulfed me is that Bronovov solicited his own fate, I was just the delivery man. I was ten thousand Euros wealthier and he got stuck in the neck with a fantastic knife. What better way to be injured than with my Tac Force three inch blade. The knife didn't kill him and neither did I, the Adriatic Sea was happy to play it's game of death over life.

Alexander Crown Trilogy