Author A. L. Norton
Coauthor of the best seller White Trash and several best sellers in her own right.
About A. L. Norton
Mike left, walked to the Suburban and came back a few seconds later with a massive sledge hammer and a long heavy crow bar. He set the end of the crowbar into the steel jamb at the place where the lock-set was. He tapped it lightly a few times to wedge it into the door. After the easy taps he swung hard twice, driving the heavy bar into the door. The door easily dented inward, the lock-set pieces flying out onto the concrete of the sidewalk as he drove the end of the heavy crowbar home.
The door itself bent out of the frame with a soft squeal of metal.
Mike started forward into the small circle of light when the odor from inside the space suddenly leapt out to assault him. At the same time, a distinct sound reached his ears, the sound of dozens of buzzing flies. Mike moved back quicker than he had thought to and nearly tripped over the others as he did.
Ronnie stepped forward, snagged what was left of the door and pushed it shut. The broken lock mechanism jammed in the steel door unit and held it closed.
Ronnie’s face was gray. Sweat popped out along his brow. He had seen dozens of bodies inside, just within the small perimeter of light that had come through the open doorway, and what looked to be dozens more just beyond in the shadows.
“Jesus,” he managed as he quickly made his way past the others, around the side of the building, away from the odor. He almost kept his breakfast down, but as the picture of the devastation inside replayed in his head, he lost the brief struggle. He came back after a few minutes...
Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Severed body parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers. A drug dealer. Two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York down to the deep south as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Put the story together and you have one hell of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. Adult content. Sex and violence.
At school, I was defiant. They had all-day kindergarten there. We even had naptime. My teacher wanted me to take my brand-new Holly Hobby rain boots off the first week of school to get on a nap mat, to take a nap. The nap – okay. Take off my new boots – not okay. She lost the battle, and I was sent home with a note pinned to my sweater, telling my parents how I was defiant. Thank God dad wasn’t home. That belt would have swatted my naked ass and legs, leaving welts for days.