Final Reunion: A Black Ghost Thriller Read online

  FINAL REUNION

  A BLACK GHOST THRILLER by

  Freddie Villacci, JR.

  FINAL REUNION

  Copyright © 2021 by Freddie Villacci, JR

  Invincible Beauty Publishing

  First Edition

  ISBN Paperback: 978-1-7352247-8-7

  ISBN Hardcover: 978-1-7352247-9-4

  ISBN Ebook: 978-1-7352247-7-0

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: ebooklaunch.com

  Formatting: Erik Gevers

  One legendary assassin + One ruthless drug lord + One lifelong vendetta =

  IT’S PORK CHOP EATIN’ TIME!

  Haunted by his traumatic past and determined to track down his estranged father for revenge, legendary assassin Bic Green has no easy task killing the infamous drug kingpin Clarence Green. Traveling deep into the heart of the New Orleans bayou, he knows that one of them isn’t walking away alive.

  After a vicious prison fight leaves Bic with no memory of his past life, he’s forced to place his trust in complete strangers – and when his father makes a surprise appearance, a vulnerable Bic is exposed to Clarence’s cunning manipulation.

  Tricked into becoming a tool in his twisted father’s plans, Bic struggles to recover his lost memories and make sense of the people he’s sent to kill, oblivious to the fact that he’s destroying everyone and everything he’s ever cared about…

  Will Bic recover his memory and avenge his Mother’s murder before his world comes crashing down? Or will he be manipulated into ruining his own life by the man he hates the most?

  Find out in this thrilling adventure in the Black Ghost Thriller series that’s chockful of death-defying action, hair-raising suspense, and high-octane danger that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

  To my children:

  Vincent, Annabella, Sofia, Freddie and Charlie.

  Thank you for giving me endless gifts of laughter, loving memories, a future with promise and adventure, not listening, not cleaning your rooms and lying about brushing your teeth.

  I am so lucky for the time I get to spend with you now and for all of eternity. Hopefully you will listen better then and appreciate the importance of flossing. ☺

  AN EYE FOR AN EYE

  MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD BLIND

  Prologue

  50 Years Earlier…

  Seven-year-old Bic Green hid behind the dumpster, watching his father Clarence stumble down the trash-littered alleyway. The stench was compounded by the heat of an Indian summer reluctantly letting go to fall, and it invaded young Bic’s nostrils. Clarence was too trashed to notice.

  His father sang out of key, mumbling the words, weaving back and forth as he took deep pulls from a 40 of Schlitz—anything was good enough if it cut the edge off coming down hard from his last score. He wiped at his lips with shaking hands as he swallowed the foul-tasting malt liquor, then absentmindedly fingered the Kalfu loa worn around his neck.

  Bic kept a safe distance as he carefully trailed behind his father. Clarence growl-slurred more lyrics as he tossed the bottle to the side, shattering it on the wall of their apartment building.

  A lean man in rumpled Sunday best sat casually sprawled along the steps, his elbows propped behind him, sunglasses shading his eyes. The other people on the street gave the lounging man a wide berth, like prey avoiding a sunbathing lion. His dark lips split as he looked up at Clarence, revealing a pearly white smile.

  “Mista Green, you look like the devil has you today.”

  “Steppin’ down from somethin’ fierce. You holdin’, King George?”

  “Might just be. For a couple dollars?”

  Clarence grimaced. “Front me. I’ll get you back.”

  King George sat up and pointed. “What about the pretty charm you wearin? Looks to be worth a buck or two.”

  Clarence hesitated.

  “How bad do you need that hit, my man?”

  The sweat beading on Clarence’s brow was a clear answer to the question.

  “Dad, that’s your Auntie’s.” Bic said from the side of the steps as he came into sight.

  “Mind your business boy,” Clarence smashed his fist into the brickwork post on the side of the stairs. A chunk of masonry crumbled under the impact and he left a bloody smear. He didn’t even glance at his hand.

  King George smiled. “Now Mista Green, maybe there’s somethin’ else we could work out.”

  Bic sprinted up the stairs keeping ample distance from his father and entered into the building.

  Six flights up, behind a worn green door, sitting on a box crate, out of breath Bic watched his Momma begin to cook as he prayed his dad had wandered off.

  “Everything alright baby?”

  Bic nodded, “Can you sing to me?”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  Lucinda began to sing Blessed Assurance and tended back to dinner.

  Bic stared at her in awe, wrapped in every word. His fears floated away as her beautiful voice comforted him.

  She glanced over as she dropped half a stick of butter into the cast iron skillet. As the butter sizzled, she unwrapped the wax paper to reveal two thick cut pork chops.

  “You’re the prettiest momma in the world.” Bic grinned.

  “Love you, sweetie.” Lucinda laughed softly then rewarded her son with more singing.

  Oh what a Savior, wonderful Jesus

  Death could not hold You, You are victorious

  Praise to the risen King

  Death could no—"

  The door flung open and Clarence walked in, interrupting the song. Lucinda looked to her estranged husband. He towered over her, and as he strode up to her, the whites of his eyes were red. It was more than just being bloodshot—it was like the man permanently carried a demon inside his soul, and the need for drugs just let it out.

  “Clarence. You promised you’d not step foot in the house when you’re using.” Her eyes went to his bleeding hand, then turned away quickly.

  “I got something I need you to do for me.” He pushed past her and stared at the two pork chops on the counter. “Where these come from?”

  “The butcher shop,” she said timidly.

  “That ain’t what I’m talkin’ about. You hiding money from me?”

  “You already sold everything in this house, we’re using old boxes and crates for furniture.”

  “You lyin’ to me, woman?”

  “Glen at Gunthropes, from church, has a charitable soul.”

  He shook his head as he went to the sink and began rinsing his damaged knuckles. “You’re gonna start workin’ for King George.”

  “Dad,” said Bic, “I can collect cans and bottles to get you money.”

  Clarence started to turn toward him, but Lucinda stepped into his line of sight. “I ain’t turning tricks to buy your drugs, Clarence. Leave me out of it and let me raise our boy.”

  Clarence backhanded Lucinda, knocking her to the floor.

  “You’ll do what I say, and when I say it. As for our freak of a son, I say you done quite enough.”

  Something inside Bic squeezed at his heart. He knew he was different from the other boys. It was in
his milky white eyes when he looked into the mirror.

  Lucinda sprung to her feet. “Get out of my house.”

  The man roared something unintelligible. And Bic screamed. And in the flash of an eye, the cast iron skillet was in Clarence’s hand, hot butter splashed the floor with a dancing hiss. The skillet swung in an arc and hit Lucinda in the temple. A sickening thud of iron sounded as bone and blood splattered the cupboard beside her, and she crumpled to the ground.

  Three more hits, one for each word. “Lying… little… bitch…”

  The pan came up again, and Bic yelled with every ounce of rage his seven-year-old frame could hold. He launched himself onto his father’s body, pounding the wide expanse of back with both fists. It was no use. Wicked thud after thud, Bic watched Clarence continue to smash her face into an unrecognizable mess.

  Clarence yanked Bic off his back and slammed him onto the floor.

  “It’s feeding time,” he said, a devil red glow in his eyes. He clenched one massive fist around Bic’s throat. Bic’s mouth hinged open and his struggles weakened as he gasped for air that didn’t come.

  And then the other fist came around, and there was the slimy taste of raw meat.

  “It’s pork chop-eatin’ time!” Clarence shouted, jamming the slab into his son’s mouth.

  Bic thrashed and tasted his father’s blood mingling with the meat. He gagged, his entire body heaving against the sickening taste.

  Then everything stilled, and there was nothing. Only sleep.

  1

  Now…

  Under the tranquility of night, men acting more like creatures separated from the darkness like an army of zombies ambling out of the heavy woods surrounding the white country house. Except for the porch light, the exterior of the house was dark. The movement of the men didn’t disturb the piping of baby Nightjars among the trees, foraging for the feast of falling Cicada hatchlings just burying themselves in the ground for their 17-year rest. The family inside was watching TV, unaware of the evil lurking outside.

  Clarence Green stood under a majestic southern live oak tree. He stood in shattered moonbeams, fractured by massive strapping limbs sprouting out in every direction. The subtle breeze blew the hanging branches in and out of his line of site as he watched his men surround the house.

  Clarence walked across the front yard to an eerie chorus of crickets and katydids, breathing deep the scent of fresh cut grass and the Mississippi delta. To a city ear, this would be silence. But to an ear like Clarence’s, the air filled with sounds, the heartbeat of animal and earthen life. The only true harbinger for death. The rhythmic insect and avian nightlife sounds was broken by the squawking of the worn wooden planks as he stepped up onto the porch. The man at his side, his war chief Kade—a stocky half-Indian half-Cajun—stepped in front of Clarence with a brown sack draped over his shoulder.

  Clarence nodded to Kade, and the man kicked the front door open. Kade strode into the home, leading with the hunting knife he held in his right hand.

  Clarence smirked as he looked out at his minions. “Our guest will be home soon,” he said, his deep voice a mixture of south-side Chicago and strong southern drawl. “I want everyone to give her a nice welcome.”

  Clarence watched as his men slowly settled into the shadows of the yard under the silvery full moon, hung behind dim gray clouds. He could feel the radiance from the great luminous orb, already drawing energy for dark magic he would be casting on this family. This night would see his key pawn placed in preparation of his son’s homecoming.

  2

  Two hours later, Detective Shelby Boudreaux pulled up in front of her house in her unmarked car. She paused to close her eyes and nod her head to the Elmore James song blasting from the radio. KJBB was great for classic blues on a Friday night.

  She had to savor it.

  This would be her last bit of peace and quiet for at least four hours. There would be the fight to get Haley to wash up, then the fight to turn out the light, then the complaints of a monster under the bed—done with a stifled giggle as the girl watched her mother crawl on all fours. Shelby figured tonight she would do the five-year-old one better, staging a mock battle with the imaginary beast, lifting it up over her shoulders and tossing it out the window. Stay out of my daughter’s room or I’ll come and find your whole family!

  She smiled as she played the scene out in her head. With a final nod to the beat, she shut the car and the music died with it.

  The hairs on her arms stood on end upon spotting her front door wide open. She’d been on the force long enough to know a break-in when she saw it, and she drew her weapon.

  Shelby quietly slid out of her car, gently shutting the door so the latch wouldn’t click, and began a slow, steady creep toward her door.

  Someone ambushed her from behind, smashing into her shoulders and driving her down. Her body hit the ground and her gun slid to the side as the weight of her assailant knocked the breath out of her.

  Using her own diminutive stature to her benefit, Shelby wriggled her five-foot-five body to the side, slithering out from under the man. He grabbed her wrist, trying to pin her down and reach across her for the gun. Years of training kicked in and she slammed her palm upwards, into his elbow. He jerked back as his elbow crunched. She grabbed the gun and spun back to the man, but he was already lunging forward again, and she squeezed the trigger. The bullet caught him in the face.

  A second assailant charging fast from the darkness received the same fate—one to the head. The guy dropped like a dead branch.

  Shelby hopped up, sprinting to get into her home as men charged from all directions.

  Not breaking stride, she squeezed off three shots at the men in closest proximity to her, dropping one with each shot.

  Shelby stepped onto the porch and turned to take out the remaining men, but the attackers had dissipated, leaving an eerie calm. The thrumming of her own beating heart was the only sound in the odd silence.

  The door…

  They’d already been inside! the raw, animalistic response of her hindbrain to that thought propelled her into the house.

  Seeing the kitchen light on, she ran through the living room and down the small hall.

  She was not a woman easily shaken, but the sight of Haley tied up on top of the kitchen table as the center of some type of ritual, put an exotic fear into her she had never experienced.

  Shelby pointed her gun at Kade, who stood behind her husband Richard with a knife dug into the man’s throat.

  “You have three seconds,” Shelby drawled.

  Suddenly her daughter screamed hysterically.

  “It’ll be okay, peanut…” she kept the gun trained on Kade.

  “Momma, it hurts,” she cried. “It hurts.” Her face was smeared with blood.

  “Do something,” Richard pleaded, wincing as the knife pricking his neck dug just a bit deeper.

  Shelby let out a deep breath, taking careful aim around her husband, to shoot Kade in the face, but paused as Kade held up an iPad for her with his other hand.

  On the screen, an old black man held a water bottle. Never one to forget a face, she quickly realized that man to be Clarence Green.

  “Good evening, Detective,” Clarence said from an unknown location.

  “What have you done to my daughter?”

  “I need something from you. And you’re going to give it to me.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  He chuckled. “What if I’m just asking for something simple? Like clearing a parking ticket?”

  “I don’t negotiate.”

  Clarence grinned in amusement. He showed the water bottle seemingly filled with dirty water, and then poured a single drop. Instantaneously, her daughter screamed as beads blood trickled from the corner of her eyes. .

  “Momma!” Haley screamed.

  “That was just a drop,” Clarence grinned.

  He tilted the bottle, the water made its
way to the mouth’s edge.

  “Wait,” Shelby shouted.

  “You said you don’t negotiate,” Clarence growled, pouring a large dollop of water from the bottle.

  Her daughter collapsed on the table, unable to stay conscious as raindrops of blood poured out from her eyes.

  Shelby looked at Haley. When she opened her big blue eyes, she could breathe again.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Protection.”

  “What? To run drugs?”

  Clarence stared for a moment. “No, there’s a man coming to kill me, a man who’s murdered hundreds of men. I need you to take him out.”

  “Who?”

  “My son.”

  “I can arrest him. He’ll be put in jail for the rest of his life.”

  “You’ll never convict him. He needs to be eliminated.”

  Shelby now held Haley in her arms. The girl was a bloody mess, worse than most murder scenes Shelby had seen. She had never negotiated before, and as something snapped inside her she realized this wasn’t a negotiation either. This was a price she simply had to pay for her daughter’s life.

  She nodded yes.

  3

  Bic Green stood in the line of exiting passengers scrambling to retrieve their luggage from the overhead bins in the Boeing 757. They’d just landed at Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans. He had with him a single carry-on. Halted in place by a gentleman fumbling with a duffel bag strap that had hooked onto the latch of the overhead, Bic breathed in and put a hand to his front pocket, feeling the indentation of the small piece of paper there.

  He extracted it and read it once more. On it was written the name, “Auntie Elodie”, followed by an address. She would do it. She would free him from this illness that could not be explained by numerous top doctors from all over the world.

  Bic’s father was more than some echo from the past that rang in his ears. The man was a practitioner of voodoo. And Bic was the walking embodiment of what that powerful magic could do when wielded by the hands of a truly malevolent being like Clarence Green.