I, Alex Cross: Chapter Two

Hey everyone,

Here it is, Chapter Two! Maybe I'll send a chapter out every Friday before launch....a little Friday afternoon pick-me-up? Kinda like the Coke Zero I'm drinking right now (pretty tasty). I think that would be fun, what about you?

And if you need a refresher, here's a link to Chapter One.

T-Minus 38 days till launch on November, 16th!

Cheers,
LB

Chapter 2

HIS NAME WAS Johnny Tucci, but the boys back in his
South Philadelphia neighborhood all called him Johnny
Twitchy, on account of the way his eyes jumped around
when he was nervous, which was most of the time.

Of course, after tonight, the boys in Philly could go
screw themselves. This was the night Johnny got into the
game for real. This was man time. He had “the package,”
didn’t he?

It was a simple job but a real goody, because he was alone
and had to take full responsibility. He’d already picked up
the package. Scared him, but he’d done just fine.

No one ever said so, but once you started making deliveries
like this, it meant you had something on the family,
and they had something on you. In other words, there
was a relationship. After tonight, there’d be no more running
numbers for Johnny, no more scrapping for crumbs
in southside neighborhoods.

It was like the bumper sticker
that said, Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
So naturally, he was pumped — and just a little bit
nervous.

His uncle Eddie’s warning kept playing like a tape in his
mind. Don’t blow this opportunity, Twitchy, Eddie had said.
I’m way out on a limb here for you. Like he was doing him
some kind of big favor with this job, which Johnny supposed
maybe he was, but still. His own uncle didn’t have to
rub his face in it, did he?

He reached over and turned up the radio. Even the country
music they played down here was better than listening
to Eddie’s nagging in his head all night long. Turned out, it
was an old Charlie Daniels Band tune, one that he actually
recognized. He even knew some of the words.
“Fire on the mountain, run boys, run —”
Don’t blow this opportunity, Twitchy.
“The devil’s in the house of the rising sun —”
I’m way out on a limb for you.
“Chicken in the bread pan, pickin’ out —”
“Oh, fuck!”

Blue flashers danced off his rearview mirror — coming
out of nowhere. Two, three seconds ago, he could have
sworn he had I- 95 all to himself.

Apparently not.

Johnny felt the corner of his right eye start to twitch.

He goosed the gas; maybe he could make a run for it.
Then he remembered the piece- of- shit Dodge he was driv
-ing, lifted out of a Motel 6 parking lot back in Essington.

Godamnit! Should have gone to the Marriott. Got a Jap car.

Still, it was possible the stolen Dodge hadn’t been flagged
yet. Whoever owned it was probably sleeping back at that
motel. With any luck, Johnny could just eat the ticket and
no one would ever have to know. But that was the kind of
luck other people had, not him.

It took the cops forever and a day to get out of their
cruiser, which was a bad sign — the worst. They were
checking the make and the plates. By the time they came
up on either side of the Dodge, Johnny’s eyes were going
like a couple of Mexican jumping beans.

He tried to be cool. “Evening, officers. What seems to
be —”

The one on his side, a tall dude with a redneck accent,
opened the driver’s door. “Just keep your mouth shut tight.
Step out of the vehicle.”

It didn’t take them any time at all to find the package.
After they checked the front and back seats, they popped
the trunk, pulled the spare- tire cover, and that was that.

“Holy mother of God!” One of the troopers shone his
light down on it. The other one gagged at the sight. “What
the hell did you do?”

Johnny didn’t stick around to answer the question. He
was already running for his life.