EARTH’S SURVIVORS LIFE STORIES: BILLY

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © Dell Sweet 2017, all
rights reserved.

Additional Copyrights © 2010 – 2014
by Dell Sweet

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LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any
names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or
events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2017
Wendell Sweet and his assignees. The Names Dell Sweet and Geo Dell are publishing
constructs owned by Wendell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by
any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed
without the author’s permission. All rights foreign and domestic are retained
by the Author and or his assignees.

Permission is granted to use short
sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright 2017 Wendell G Sweet

PROLOGUE

Six months before:

Esmeraldas, Ecuador

Tommy Murphy and Jefferson Prescott

Jefferson Prescott stood quietly
and sipped at his coffee. The house in Esmeraldas was his private escape. He
could sit and watch the ocean, or travel into the mountains in just a few hours
time, and Ecuador was such an easy country to live in: The people so happy with
so little.

He owned a building in Manhattan,
he owned a house in the hills outside of L.A., but this was his favorite place.
This was where he did his real business, entertained and spent time with the
women in his life, besides his wife and daughters back in Manhattan. This was
the place where he bought his associates. Those that another man might call
friends: In Jefferson’s world there was no place for friends. The luxury the
concept
didn’t exist.

Tommy Murphy stood at the rail a
few feet away and smoked a cigar, looking out over the ocean. He was probably
the closest person he had to a friend. The two of them had a lucrative
relationship. Jefferson’s drugs and drug connections, Tommy’s organized crime
connections. Between the two of them, they controlled almost everything that
moved on the East Coast. They had tentacles that stretched all the way to the
west coast, and inroads into the south that we’re starting to look like
highways.

They both dealt in millions daily.
Privately, they were probably two of the richest men in the world, but they
were on no one’s list of who’s who, except a few specialized task forces within
the world’s governments: Even they couldn’t touch them. They owned too many of
their officials, too many of their agents were on their payrolls. They didn’t
fight the task forces or special government branches the way the old syndicates
had, they simply bought them. Every man really did have his price. And if that
was too high you simply bought the man beside him, or above him, it was just as
effective.

With all the deals they had made,
and the millions they had amassed, nothing came close to what they had on the
burner right now. Tommy had fallen into a deal on a tip, a way to collect on a
sizable gambling debt, and the two of them had decided to take the risk.

Tommy sipped at his drink and then
raised his eyes to Prescott. “Concerned?” Tommy asked.

“Unconcerned… It’s only money,”
Jefferson assured him.

“Good,” Tommy said quietly. He
reached into his pocket and retrieved a slim silver cylinder. A small red
button, with a protective cap in the same cheap looking, red plastic covered
the button.

Jefferson pulled a deep breath,
audible in the sudden silence. From somewhere deep in the jungle of a forest
that surrounded them a big cat screamed.

“Looks like nothing,” Jefferson
said.

“I told the kid it reminded me of
these little refill cylinders I used to have for my BB gun when I was a kid,”
Tommy said.

“Jefferson laughed. “I can’t
imagine that you played with anything that didn’t have a silencer and at least
a ten round clip.”

Tommy laughed and then fell silent.
“This is it, Jeff. Strip off the protective cap, push the button… The kid
said it doesn’t matter after that… How close, how far, it will protect us.”

Infect us,” Jefferson
corrected. “There is a difference.”

“Infect us,” Tommy agreed. “I
figure, why not… We paid the big bucks for the rest of it, but this will
start us down that path… Why not do it.”

“Why not,” Prescott agreed. “A
sample? Just enough for two?”

Tommy shrugged. “He didn’t say… I
depended upon the reports he smuggled out more than the first hand knowledge he
has. He knows what he has seen, but he has not witnessed anyone come back…
The reports detail exactly that.”

Jefferson laughed and shook his
head. “Immortality.”

“Immortality,” Tommy agreed. He
paused, stripped the small red cover from the slim, silver tube and pressed the
button before he could change his mind. Nothing: He turned the silver tube back
and forth.

“Maybe there should be no sound,”
Jefferson said. He had braced for what he expected: A small cloud of vapor, a
hiss, something to impart that magic the tube was supposed to contain.

Tommy raised the tube to his nose,
but there was no detectable odor. “But did it do its job,” Tommy said so low it
might almost have been to himself if he had not raised his eyes and asked of
Prescott.

“The million dollar question,”
Prescott said quietly.

Multimillion dollar
question,” Tommy corrected. He stared at the container a few seconds longer and
then slipped it into his pocket. “In for a penny,” he said.

“In for a pound,” Prescott agreed.

“You know Ben Neo?” Tommy
asked after a few moments of silence, changing the subject to private business.

“Your best,” Jefferson
said.

Tommy nodded and turned back to the
rail. “When you find out who it is, tell me. I’ll have him take care of it
for you. He’s good. Discreet. Fast.” He turned and looked at Jefferson.
“Yeah?” he asked.

Jefferson nodded. “Yeah, I
appreciate it. I’ve got Carlos on it. I’ll know soon. When I know, you will
know. From my lips to yours,” he said.

Tommy nodded. He sipped at his
drink again.

“I have that young woman you
like so much coming over in just a little while,” Jefferson said.

Tommy turned away from the rail and
smiled. “I could use the diversion,” he said.

Jefferson shrugged. “It’s what
we do for each other,” he said as he got to his feet. “Enjoy
yourself, Tommy. I am about to head back… Take care of a few things. I will
see you at your place up in the Catskills next week?” he asked.

“Absolutely, Jeff,
absolutely,” Tommy said. The two men embraced and Jefferson left the warm
night air of the deck and followed his driver who was waiting to take him to
the helicopter pad. Tommy watched him go and then turned back to the rail,
watching the waves out in the sea, rolling under the moonlight.

“Sir?” a voice said from
the doorway.

Tommy turned from the rail to look
at Andrea Ivanna Zurita, the beautiful young woman who stood in the doorway
smiling.

The Lita Situation

Manhattan

“Lita… Lita, stop, Lita: What
are you doing?”

“I want you… I want you… I
know what I’m doing,” Lita said. 
Her lips fell on his, her body pressed up against his own. He had been
okay until he felt the softness of her breasts pressing against him: The
firmness of her thighs as they moved against his own thigh. Whatever he had
held back: Whatever resolve he had, had, he lost. He felt it fall away as he
pulled her to him: Tasting her; feeling her hands on his body.

“Lita?” he tried again, but without much
resolve. He breathed it against her cheek as she kissed his neck, ran her hands
over his chest, squatted and came level with his belt line. Her fingernails
pressed against the fabric of his shirt, ticking downward, and she ran her
hands across to stomach and found the catch to his pants, and then worked the
zipper down.

“Lita… Think, Lita,”
he said.

She took him in her mouth and
everything flew away. Everything he had fought to say. Everything he had been
afraid of. All of it gone. There was only the warm night, the girl, and the
darkness.

She stood and lifted her dress, she
was bare beneath: He picked her up and her thighs parted, coming around his
hips and locking together as he slid into her. Her lips fell on his neck once more;
his hands pulled her closer, drove deeper into her. He stumbled forward until
the wall was at her back. She thrust her hips harder, and the last vestige of
doubt, the last small piece of resolve, melted away: She came alive under his
hands.

Two Days Later

Watertown, New York

Carlos and Gabe

The man moved more fully into the
shadows. “You Gabe?” he asked in a near whisper.

The darker shadow nodded. “You…?”
He started.

“Now who in fuck else would I be?”
He asked.

The darker shadow said nothing. The
other man passed him a small paper bag. “Count it,” he told him.

Gabe Kohlson moved out of the
shadow, more fully into the light. “It’s a lot; I can’t stand here, out here
counting it.”

The man laughed. “You asked for this
place. It’s the middle of nowhere. I Googled it, it comes up marked as
the middle of nowhere. Who in fuck will see you?” He laughed and then choked it
off with a harsh cough. “Count it. No mistakes… You got the shit?”

Kohlson’s head popped up fast from
counting. “Of course I don’t… That wasn’t the deal.”

“Easy… Easy… Keep your panties
on… I’m saying you got the shit... You got access to the
shit?”

“That I got… I can get it out
this Thursday at shift end…” He held up the paper bag. “A lot of this goes to
greasing the skids… You know, to get it out,” Gabe told him. “This stuff.”

“Whoa right there,” the man told
him. “Don’t say shit about it. I don’t know what it is and I don’t want to
know, see? I do a job. Take this thing there, that thing here. That’s all I
know. Keeps my head on my shoulders when all about are losing theirs.”

“Uh… Lost me,” Gabe Kohlson told
him.

“Just shut up about the shit, man.
I don’t want to know anything past what I know, okay?”

“Okay,” Kohlson agreed.

“I do know you got to get it out
and I will be here to get it… Hey,” he waited until the kid looked up. “You
know who I work for, right? You fuck this up you’ll wind up out at the county
landfill… Gulls pecking out your fucking eyes let me tell you. I will meet you
here next Thursday night… Seven… Don’t be late… Don’t fuck this up…
Don’t make me come looking for you…” He faded back into the shadows more
fully, turned and walked down the shadowed front of the building. A few minutes
later he found his car in the darkness: He waited.

He heard the kid’s shit-box beater
when it started. A few moments later he watched as it swept past him, heading
out of the small park area toward the river road. He levered the handle on his
own car, slipped inside, started it and drove slowly away.

Three months before:

Manhattan

“It makes no sense to me,
Carlos” Jefferson said. “How can you say there is no one when I know
there is someone? When she talks about her lover to her friends? This man, or
boy, or whatever he is, is so bold as to meet her right in my very own home…
Not always, but she brags to her friends about it. I know I listen, but she
never says his name: How can that be… 
It’s like she is torturing me with this lover.” He looked to Carlos
Sanchez.

“Carlos, you are like my son.
I give you everything. Power, money, whatever you need. Whatever you ask, I
give, Carlos, you know that…”

Carlos nodded. “I know, Mr.
Prescott, I know,” Carlos said.

“So if you are as a son to me,
I am like a father to you. How could you let someone do this to your father? It
is as though I were naked; would you leave me naked and laugh about it as Hamm
did with Noah? Or would you cover up my nakedness, as Shem and Japheth
did?” His eyes locked on Carlos’ own.

“I would cover you,” Carlos
said.

“This man has left me naked, Carlos: Exposed. So has she, and I will deal with that transgression too, but you must find this man: You, my son. You.” He nodded firmly at Carlos and Carlos nodded back.


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