Lima Gun Club , livre ebook

First Edition Design Publishing - Robert Peters

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140 pages

English

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Description

David Elliot, ex-pat, ex-paramedic living in Lima Peru with his family is caught up in a plot against the government of Peru. It is led by a team of ex-military United States and Peruvian members who are trying to make the world a better place, as they see it. You see into David's mind as he is dragged along throughout the city of Lima. His depression, his wants, his needs, his anxiety. He is basically crutch to the team's leader and medic to the rest. As they move they are seen and David is put on the list of suspects and now also becomes sought by the police of Peru. His loyalty is called into question; he too is ex-military and feels a kinship towards the members of the team. He wonders whether if given the chance if he will be able to escape or if when needed will he pick up a gun?

Sujets

Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

Thriller

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Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	25 août 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781622879359
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0420€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Lima Gun Club

Written by
Robert Peters
Lima Gun Club
Copyright ©2015 Robert Peters

ISBN 978-1622-879-34-2 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-879-35-9 EBOOK

LCCN 2015942885

June 2015

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .

Cover illustration by Robert Peters
For the real Carmen, Maria and Joseph in my life
1

Saturday, June 7 th , 2008
Though the sun lay hidden somewhere above the omnipresent fog, the heat and humidity of the windless Peruvian summer day poured over me. I stood and stared into the oncoming traffic looking for my salvation. It was a taxi that I was after and there were plenty of them to be found on the busy downtown roundabout, but, they all seemed unsympathetic to my plight or were they conspiring against getting me out of the Central District?
I pulled at my shirt with hope of unclenching its uncomfortable adhesion across my chest and back without achieving a positive result.
Any of the taxis that would stop either wanted double the going rate and were unwilling to bargain. Or they simply didn’t want to take me all the way back to Chorrillos and home. I was at the mercy they appeared to lack en masse.
Lima’s “El Centro”, is an area where I almost never went and certainly never by myself. It not only has been described as being less than safe with pick pockets, street thugs and all possibility of bad tidings to be had. It even comes with a feeling of eventual doom attached. It’s a big crowded inner city area in a big crowded city of eight plus million, infested with slums and severely polluted industrial park amid historic beauty.
I hated being there, in that area where nothing was remotely near to any of my concepts of safety. The feeling that I was far too exposed caused its irritation as I stood there, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb. Taller by a foot, blonder and so different looking then the sea of faces that swam around and past me. Their proximity made me ever vigilant about the location of my wallet and the gold on my finger.
“Come on, god damn it.” I swore at another taxi’s wave off.
I’d been standing on one of the many “corners” of the roundabout for going on twenty minutes.
A heaviness was upon me, a feeling beyond the heat and lack of familiarity to the area as I stood. The harsh exchange of words that my wife and I had exchanged over breakfast rose and fell in my stomach. I looked around me again, feeling that I’d let my guard down too long. It was hard not seeing the decay of a city whose glory days appeared to have all but passed it by. The buildings were awash with pollution and graffiti. The roads were thick with traffic full of patched and left alone potholes. Discarded trash swirled and fell all around me. The perpetual noise of horns and missing mufflers blurted out loud from barely functioning engines of the vehicles as they choked every bit of road, the crisp, acrid smell of the exhaust made breathing a chore. I put out my hand at a car with magnetic taxi sign attached and was told no by the shaking of a finger.
My eyes left the car and went up the giant horse, rider astride, sword dawn and at the ready which topped off the concrete pedestal in the middle of the traffic circle. I stared at what must have been some past glory memorialized with years of mistreatment and pollution attached. It had long since grayed into the background from what certainly must have been a pristine beginning.
I looked back into the oncoming traffic as it moved at not much more than a fast walk towards me in its congestion. No one used the lane dividers; no one possessed the concept of right of way. It was a crap shoot of push, whether the lane was empty or not. Simply put your nose out there and hope no one knocks it off as you meander and merge.
My level of agitation increased with each hot second.
The day started with a fight about nothing and me storming out pissed, and then I couldn’t cop out of this trip. My wife and I had been playing the oil and water game of late. What’s worse, the reason I had come ended up for naught. What I had come for didn’t exist in the shop I had been sent to. Things were not comfortable. Unfortunately this all rushed back in as I was just this side of furious in the hot sun. I looked back into traffic; my hand again raised flagging at the hope of escape.
“Screeeech, Bam!” There was an excited explosive sound of the screeching of tires followed by a concussive strike, not metal on metal but a solid versus something which sounded like a wet mop. By the time I could see what was happening, the body that had impacted it was hard sprawled; spread-eagle up on the hood of one of the many taxis to my front. This was followed instantaneously by his propulsion forward into the air and the sickening noise of his collapse onto the pavement as he did a half roll to stop. I was held in the moment as all this played out within 15 feet of me. The taxi stopped hard, just off the body. Traffic, like time, stopped. The victim pulled his left arm from under his body and planted it weakly in an attempt to get up from the baking hot blacktop. His effort, however, was fruitless and resulted in nothing more than his body flopping back down hard in a crumple.
As though pushed from behind, I moved off the curb and into the lull in the traffic. I checked first, making sure I wouldn’t be the next victim of some other jackass driver and began winding through the stopped cars till I knelt at the victim’s side.
“Don’t move, No muevo!” My words fell out of me without thought; this was my territory, having been to more wrecks than I can remember. I had spent the last 12 years working as a Paramedic back in the States, “I’ve got you.” I looked him rapidly up and down looking for the obvious.
Gently I set my hand on his shoulder and when he didn’t move I turned my ear towards his face to check if he was still breathing. “Hello?” As I got closer I could see blood coming in a steady stream from a gash on his forehead. I could hear his breathing which was coming in fits and starts. He pushed out a deep moan and gave a strong twitch.
When I leaned in closer and my shadow blocked the sunlight from his face, his eyes shot open, dilated, then constricted back to the day’s light. I jerked slightly, startled by the response.
“Are you O.K.? Do you speak English? Soy un Paramedico, no muevo.” I had no idea what language he spoke.
His answer came from under his body in the form of a black pistol pointing hazily, wavering at my chest.
I rocked back away from him, both hands coming up, palm out.
He swallowed hard and did a staggering series of blinks trying to clear his vision. I played deer in the headlights and froze, waiting in silence for the end which I had obliviously had stumbled into.
Gravel fell out of a bloody patch which took up much of the side of his face. I could feel the terror shakes pulse through my body. He was less than a foot from me, yet his eyes searched at my image apparently trying to focus. This was my death. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, awaiting the coming crackle of the round being released from its casing and blowing through my life. When I looked again he put his empty left hand on the ground under his weight and bent up to up on his elbows bringing his face into full view. He was a guy in his early 30’s, clean shaven with smartly short dark brown hair. White as me and fucked up, probably needed stitches on his forehead. His strained breathing was gone, he was awake and clear now. The gun remained where it had been and I could see deeply into the hole of the black barrel.
“Get,” he stopped, interrupted then cleared his voice with a cough then a bloody spit onto the pavement. “Get me up and out of here.” His English was spoken through clenched teeth.
My hands were still up in surrender. “Dude, you got hit pretty hard!” I looked down his body and saw the badly angulated, but closed fracture of his left tibia and fibula. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere…not without a stretcher.”
The gun, now in a steadier hand, remained level with my face and drew my full attention.
“Get me the fuck up!” He placed his empty left hand back onto the pavement and was able to sustain elevation.
“I, um ok…” I shifted around to his head and helped as best I could to roll him over. He began pushing just enough for me to begin moving him towards a sitting position then his hand jerked towards the pain that the movement of his leg’s fracture caused. Though I absolutely expected him to look himself over and to stop this asinine move concept; he instead turned his attention back to the direction he had apparently come from when the accident happened.
I shifted down and helped to ease his leg over.
“Well?” He blurted out as he aimed the gun at me from his low vantage point. “UP!”
Slowly and tentatively I reached down and wrapped my arms under his.
“AH, Fuck!” He bit his lip hard, he had tried to shift his legs and found the pain. Grunting he pulled his good leg up till the sole of his good foot sat firmly on the ground.
“This is going to fucking hurt sir,” I tried to add sincerity. “Are you sure?” When he looked back and met my eyes and I knew his conviction. “OK, here we go. One, Two…” and I lifted hard against him trying to pull us both against gravity’s pull.
It was not just the sound that I could hear that caused me to