Hello all, here is the beginning of my new book, When Nobody Cares. If you have a moment, please give it a go and let me know what you think. Is it something that you would like to see. I appreciate all the feedback, Thank you.
Prologue
What if I die and nobody cared? That is the question that itched at the brain. The thought lurked deep in their gray matter like a dull back pain, always present, never going away.
What if they die and I don’t care? What if I killed them, would anyone know? What if they die, would anyone care?
Chapter 1
Anthony Luigi Luciano Ricci lowered the window on his steel grey series 7 BMW as he flashed his legislature badge to the parking garage entrance on Commonwealth Avenue across from Soldiers Grove Park. It was nine-thirty in the morning at the beginning of September, two days after Labor Day. The first day back to work after he walked in two Labor Day parades. It was always important to walk so he could connect with the people who voted for him. If a politician rides in the back of a car they come off as pompous. At the end of the two parades his face hurt holding the smile for hours and the numerous times he faked laughing. During the parades most comments are respectful, and then there of those comments that are genially humorous. Most people may not like your political views but have respect for the position, and most people are not terribly confrontational. Then, there is a minority of folks that figure since they pay taxes, they can be ignorant and degrading in what they say. In those moments Anthony remembers advice he got before he became an elected member of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives when he first started to be a wrestling referee. The advice came from Marc Bartlebaugh when he spoke about fans who would confront you over a call. The advice was simple and to the point, as Marc usually was, he said never get into a pissing contest with a skunk. It is a skill that Anthony was able to master as a referee or as referees refer to themselves, an official. It was a special talent politicians need to have when someone says something so offensive, then smile and move on. The temptation is to beat their face to a pulp.
The gate lifted and Anthony glided forward to the security guard to identify himself. The identification was unnecessary, Anthony extended his hand from the window, “Hey Chuck how’s it shaking?”
“Good morning, Congressman, I can’t complain. The sun is shining and I’m away from my wife for the next eight hours. You can’t beat that,” Chuck laughed.
These conversations are repeated every day. When Chuck gets a good laugh from his joke, he will use it all day. Chuck has a great job. He is part of the Capital Police and is stationed where the members of the Pennsylvania house and senate park. Along with what Chuck calls the split asses. Those are the administrative assistances who just happen to be extremely hot women. They are the ones that are the personal assistance for the congressmen and senators. There are perks to having power, and arm candy is one of those. Along with other fringe benefits. Chuck’s been around long enough to know who he can be friendly with and who he just needs to say yes sir too.
Anthony was someone he could joke with, “That’s why I’m not married,” Anthony joked, “You better watch what you say. If Liz finds out what you said that she will kick your ass.”
Anthony could see Cuck still laughing in the rear-view mirror when he turned the corner and guided his BMW into the slot marked Ricci. The spot was next to the one marked Brown which was a bit closer to the door. When Anthony exited the car, he slipped on his suit jacket. A Dark charcoal that accented Anthony’s physique perfectly with a crisp white shirt with cufflinks with a R in a script font. You could use his Dior classic Oxford shoes as a mirror, the shine was so brilliant.
Anthony avoided wearing a pinstripe suit, he thought it too stereotypical mobster appearance for an Italian man to wear. As it was without anyone asking his name, he looked every bit Italian. An advantage he enjoyed using. At six-foot three with a thick mane of perfectly manicured hair and olive skin when he walked in the hallways of the Capitol building every woman’s head turned. It didn’t hurt that he had less than five percent body fat.
Anthony loved walking through the Capital building. On October 4, 1906, when President Theodore Roosevelt attended the dedication of the building, he said, “This is the handsomest building I ever saw.” Anthony exited the garage and onto the glossy red brick floor of the Capital building. The floor resembled cobblestone. Anthony’s shoes clicked loudly as he paced towards his office in the older part of the building. Being part of the minority party, his office was smaller than those in the newer East Wing, Anthony liked the history of his office, not the lousy heat and drafty two-hundred old windows.
He came up to a group of administrative assistants and smiled, “Good morning, ladies,” he said with his best smile and stopped to give them the impression that he cared about what they were doing. There were two distinct types of administrative assistants, one that was serious and wanted to move up the political ladder. Those he wouldn’t bother with. Then there were the others who were drawn to power, those are the ones that are ripe. After the Monica Lewinsky scandal for the rest of that summers her hairstyle could be seen on most women who crave to be close to power. It was like those women put a neon sign on their back, pick me.
“Yo, Anthony.,” representative Steve Zebretski called from across hallway. Steve is in the house representing a rural area about twenty miles north of Scranton. Being Italian Anthony normally gets two kinds of greetings, the one Steve used, the yo from Rocky or the how you doin from Joey Tribbiani from Friends.
“What’s up boss?”
“I wanted to make sure you are with us of HB-217,” Steve answered, “We’re not gonna win but we need to stick together.”
Steve Zebretski was a diligent and dedicated state representative, he cared deeply about his work for the people. Anthony cared about getting elected again, “I’m all over it Steve, don’t worry I got your back.”
Anthony knew the role he played. He was a solid vote for his party. If he voted the way his party wanted him to vote he knew there would never be a primary opponent. The party would stop anyone from running against him. His seat was in a heavily gerrymandered district thanks to the majority party which meant that it would be almost impossible for someone in the majority party to beat him in a district that was seventy-five percent of his party.
Strutting along the hallway Anthony walked like he owned the place. He made a point of giving a cordial wave to those he knew casually and firm handshake to those he knew personally. He made the time to thank Dave for his tireless work as the clock winder for the Commonwealth. Dave’s job is to walk around the halls of the capital with his trusty ladder and wind each of the antique clocks in the commonwealth complex. Dave worked for the Commonwealth for more than thirty years. After all that time he earns an incredibly good salary and nice pension for putting a key in a hole and winding a clock.
Once in his office Anthony could let down his guard, he walked to the room next to his office where his Office Manager worked. Denise Brown could not be mistaken for one of the young attractive assistants. She was in her mid-fifties with a medium frame and presented a mature beauty. She had long dark brunette hair with streaks of white. While Anthony was able to have more than his share of women he did not socialize in his office, the people in his office were there to help his stay in office. And there was no one better conductor for the orchestra in his office than Denise. For her age Denise was attractive but that isn’t why she is Anthony’s Office Manager. Denise runs the Anthony Ricci show, she is the most competent person Anthony has ever known.
Denise lifted her head from the computer when Anthony walked into her personal office, she checked the time on the computer, “It’s ten till ten, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve got time don’t I,” Anthony answered, “I always check in here first.”
“The vote for HB-217 starts in ten minutes, you want to get there and vote early and get the hell out of there.” Denise scolded.
Most representatives would resent such an intelligent strong-willed woman like Denise, Anthony loved it, “Am I a yes or no on HB-217?”
“Holy shit, you’re a damn no. No, you vote no. Do I have to write that on your hand. Now go vote you jackass, I know you’re pulling my chain.”
Anthony chuckled and straightened his tie and left the office as quickly as he came in. Walking to the House Chamber he thought, I’m a no on HB-217. I won’t tell Denise I didn’t remember. At seven after ten Anthony entered the house floor and made his way to his desk. He was stopped by Zebretski, “I appreciated your support on this one. We won’t have enough no votes to stop the vote, but we can make a point.”
Relieved that Denise had him voting with Steve, “You can always count on me. Now let me go and vote here. There are things I need to attend too.”
Anthony didn’t sit at his desk, he opened the voting device and pressed No. He turned and walked out the shortest way from the chamber. He thought as he closed the doors behind him. This is the best job in the world. All I have to do is place the right votes and keep my nose clean and not piss off the party and I got a job for life.
Chapter 2
The atrocity. Fresh is the mind as it was thirteen years ago. Ever since that night when the world ended for them, they started to plot revenge.
Now, the first one will fall but he will not be the last. All must pay the price, or none will pay.
Paster Trent Armstrong started the day as normal. Trent was a fifty-two-year-old balding man. He stands almost six feet tall and at two-hundred sixty pounds it is obvious that over the years he is exceptionally soft around the middle. His job does not help, he sits at a desk all day drinking coke and eating potato chips at a dead-end job working as a receiving clerk at the American Importers Trucking company. At the trucking company he is the nephew of Big Jim Armstrong where everyone including Trent knows the only reason, he has a job, even this menial job is because he is family.
Where Paster Trent Armstrong has status is at the Christian Fundamental Church of the Devine. He preaches the fundamentalists principals that women are to subject themselves to their husbands. Where men are superior, and women are expected to obey men in every way. He is not the main preacher. He became a paster in the church through his connections with his Uncle Jim. The process was easy, the church paid for the online class and gave him the answers to the test. In an afternoon he went from Trent to Paster Trent.
He hasn’t worked his way up to the big time preaching on Sunday morning for the television production that the church produces every Sunday. He has played a shepherd in the Christmas Eve extravaganza service. And he has worked his way into a special counsel that works covertly for the interests of the church. For the time being he preaches to families and children in the classrooms of the church campus on Wednesday evenings and Sunday afternoons.
Trent left his home and with his wife Charity with a grunt of “See you later.” He drove his eight-year-old Ford F150 to Starbucks a half a mile from his home and ordered his usual.
“Yea, can I get a bacon cheddar and egg sandwich, extra bacon. And a cinnamon caramel cream cold brew venti?”
He was driving from the drive through when his iPhone notified him that he had a message from a social media application that specializes in no questions asked sex hook ups. Trent exited the road and parked in the nearest parking lot, then stuffed the sandwich into his mouth dripping bacon juice on his face. He opened the app and found he received a message from GirlOnHerKnees, In town for a college thing, love to fuck you 😊.
Trent clicked on the name GirlOnHerKnees and looked at her picture, “The picture is hot.” The profile says she is nineteen and she currently lives in State College. What made Trent shift in his seat was under the profile where it said my limits, her answer was the back of my throat. Under status it said single and looking for older married men to have their way with me.
Her profile looked like it was legit and not a troll, and her picture looked too good not to reply. He thought, you are hot. Then decided not to type that, “Everyone must tell her that.”
Then he wrote, I was on my way to work but I’d love to meet?
GirlOnHerKnees wrote back immediately, I really really need it now, can you blow off work, then I can blow you off 😊.
A bead of sweat rolled from the back of Trent’s hair and down his neck. He shifted in his seat to adjust his pants. His hands trembled just a bit when he answered, “I own the company. Where are you, I will be there.
A perk from being the nephew of Big Jim Armstrong was that if he was late or didn’t show nothing happened to him. It wouldn’t be the first time that Trent didn’t show for work for a hook up. And not the first time he lied to someone telling them he owned the company.
GirlOnHerKnees answered again very quickly, At the Dave’s Inn, room 138.
Dave’s Inn was a small motel owned by an independent operator about three miles from where Trent was parked. They played on the name association with a big chain, even the sign resembled the chain. From what Trent remembered it looked clean enough from the outside, certainly not a place that one would think was rented by the hour.
Trent answered, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The answer came back as Trent was putting his truck in drive, Door is open & I’m naked on the bed.
The normal trip would take ten minutes, Trent made it in five. His truck slid to a stop on the gravel parking lot in front of room 138 between a work van and a Honda Accord. He exhaled heavily and tried to will his erection to subside. Before leaving the truck Trent looked in every direction for anyone that might see him. There was no one out and about in the area so he brushed what was left of his hair with his fingers and got out of the truck and walked to the door.
Tentatively Trent tested the doorknob. A broad smile broke on his face when the knob turned with no resistance, “I’m gonna fuck a nineteen-year-old,” he whispered to himself when he opened the door and stepped inside.
His eyes blinded walking in from the bright of the day to the dark of the room he rubbed them with his fingers excited to see what waited for him. Before the door closed, he felt the electric shock of a taser burn into his neck that dropped him to his knees. The next moment he felt a pinch in his arm. Before the pain of the taser subsided, his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he landed on his side. His eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked up before he passed out. Oh fuck, he thought as he lost consciousness.
Mike Settino 