Last Chance Read online

  Last Chance

  Volume 1

  The Legend Of

  The Hathmec

  Bradley H. Boals

  Cover art by Les McDermott.

  For more information on this and other books in this series, visit hathmecbook.com.

  Copyright © 2014 Bradley H. Boals

  ISBN: 1500416460

  ISBN 13: 978-1500416461

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014912169

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  Dedicated to a good man and friend, Casey Dunagan. You lived life to the fullest and were never afraid to take a chance. Thank you for the passion that you had for life.

  Special thanks to Rose Mary, Benny, and April. No one could ask for a better mother, father, and wife. I am blessed with a wonderful family and friends and truly appreciate your support.

  Thank you to Amanda Banker Schaser and Rob G. I couldn’t have finished this without you.

  Thank you Lindsey and Shelby; I’ll work on your request.

  contents

  Chapter 1

  A Mosquito Bite

  Chapter 2

  History Lessons

  Chapter 3

  Beamball

  Chapter 4

  Meet Mr. Kellington

  Chapter 5

  Room 1313

  Chapter 6

  The Hathmec

  Chapter 7

  The Rorimite Tunnel

  Chapter 8

  Will Work for Food

  Chapter 9

  I’m a Sophomore

  Chapter 10

  Pity Date

  Chapter 11

  Girls and Gadgets

  Chapter 12

  Mirror Mirror

  Chapter 13

  Aliens Among Us

  Chapter 14

  Trust Me

  Chapter 15

  The Strength of Many

  Chapter 16

  Road Trip

  Chapter 17

  What Are You Thinking?

  Chapter 18

  Hit Like a Girl

  Chapter 19

  Change of Heart

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  a mosquito bite

  The lights from the four-door sedan began to fade away from the banks of the Potomac as the car made its relaxed exit from the secluded and wooded opening. The sun was several hours away from making an appearance as the moon dominated a dark sky. Blood continued to mix with the murky waters of the river. The soul of a man faded as quickly as the lights from the car disappeared. The bullet hole in the forehead of the unknown body floating away gushed free of restriction. As the man’s final breaths struggled to reach his lungs, his life passed before his eyes, with a focus on the events that occurred a few hours earlier.

  It was about midnight when Mr. Elliott’s stretch limousine pulled up to the front door of Club ‘84. The club’s main building was previously used as a warehouse in the Washington, DC, downtown area, but now it’s the hottest club in town. An observer might see celebrities, politicians, or even the occasional dignitary at a club like this. The lights outside the front entrance were bright as they ran up the three-story structure’s brick face. Like any good club, outsiders can’t see what is going on inside, but they can hear the beat of the music pulsating through the walls. A line formed around the block of hopeful entrants to the front door, but few would see any more than the back of the next person in line. Only the truly privileged, famous, or powerful are allowed into this particular club. Mr. Elliott fits all those categories.

  Leo, the club’s doorman, came to the limo’s back door and opened it, expecting to see a few young ladies crawl out, the norm when Mr. Elliott arrived. This was not the case this evening, as the normally brash and cocky Mr. Elliott simply got out and made his way to the door. A bit confused, Leo asked, “Sir, where are your companions this evening? You’re not losing that golden touch, are you?”

  Mr. Elliott looked back as he entered the club and chuckled to Leo. “There’s nothing golden about my touch; I just know how to get what I want. Right now, I want you to make sure that my car is ready to go when I am. I don’t plan on staying long tonight.”

  With a hop in his step, Leo ran back to the club door and held it open for Mr. Elliott, and promised to take care of it. Mr. Elliott, in turn, slipped Leo a nice wad of cash and told him not to mess with his radio stations.

  The inside of the club screamed of the excesses of the decade. The multiple dance floors and lounge areas were first class. From the pure crystal glasses that lined the length of the bar to the custom marble dance halls, there was no expense spared. Top-of-the-line sound systems covered the walls; DJs in every corner spun the latest tracks. The sheer size of the building would cause many to get lost in the darkness and heat of the night. The gold-inlay disco balls had been placed just a week earlier to accentuate the exclusivity of the club. No Joe Lunchboxes wanted here.

  Mr. Elliott walked the length of the main floor and passed by the VIP booths. Some local politicians were hamming it up in one booth, and a couple of Grammy winners were in another booth debating why hip-hop would just be a fad. The bars were fully stocked, and the drinks flowed as quickly as the scantily dressed waitresses could deliver them.

  The music pounded, hundreds filled the dance floors, and the smell of smoke and drink overwhelmed the senses. The multicolored lights of the hall flashed and moved throughout the floor as chants of “Go Stacey! Go Stacey!” resonated against the walls. Mr. Elliott knew Stacey quite well, and without even looking at the dance floor, he knew that she had removed some clothing and was dancing in one of the floor’s several cages.

  He thought, How proud her parents must be! Turned out her mother was in the cage next to her. Things had changed since Mr. Elliot was a kid, or maybe he just didn’t know they existed back then. Regardless, they were part of the norm for him now, at least until he could do something about it.

  Daniel Elliott was a regular at the club. So much so that he always had one of his many cars parked in the lot behind it. Waiting for a car to pick him up at the end of the night just wasn’t his style. He enjoyed the attention that he received when he arrived to the club in a limo, but when he was ready to go, he wanted to control the exit.

  At first look, there wasn’t much about Daniel Elliott to get excited about. He was in his mid thirties, not a large man, thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail. His dress was conservative for 1984, custom business suit, tie, and black leather shoes. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a club full of pastel blazers, multicolored headbands, and sparkly gloves. There was nothing special about Mr. Elliott, except for the fact that he was rich, powerful, commanded respect, and everyone knew who he was—or at least they thought they did.

  Daniel Elliott continued his walk to the far side of the building, where he planned to have a talk with the owner of Club ‘84. This was nothing new for Mr. Elliott. He had completed this walk many times in the past and had never had a second thought about it, but this time was different.

  “Daniel, Daniel, over here!”

  Daniel turned to see a lovely brunette making her way over to him. Daniel, a puzzled look on his face, asked the young lady, “Can I help you?”

  “It’s me, Ashley. We met last week.” Daniel, still confused, shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “We met by the bar. You bought me a drink.”

  Daniel responded, “And then?”

  “Then you complemented me on how limber I was.”

  As if struck
by lightning, Daniel remembered, “Oh, Ashley, of course! How could I forget?” Daniel removed a one hundred dollar bill from his jacket pocket and handed it to the young model. “Go grab yourself a few drinks and I’ll track you down later.”

  Ashley took the hundred and responded, “Sure thing. I’ll see you later then.”

  Daniel had no intention of finding Ashley again that night, but it was easier to hand over some cash than to deal with her. There were fifty other young ladies in attendance that night who could make claim to a similar scenario with Mr. Elliott. Luckily, Daniel always carried several Ben Franklins in his jacket pocket.

  For all of the confidence and swagger that Mr. Elliott displayed on a nightly basis, his demeanor was different this time. His palms were sweating, his breathing was heavy, and he could feel his own heart beating louder than the bass of the music that streamed around him. To say that he was scared would be an exaggeration. Fear was an emotion that Mr. Elliott had not known for several years. This was an anxious feeling of the unknown, a feeling of uncertainty that didn’t belong and needed to be taken care of.

  The club’s front office contained two rooms: the boss’s main office and the waiting area, which was controlled by his personal secretary, Ms. Connie Bowers. Ms. Bowers was a lovely young lady, perhaps so young that she didn’t belong in an over-twenty-one establishment, but she was committed to her employer. Despite her age, she didn’t take any lip from the visitors who wanted to speak with her boss. Daniel prepared himself for the sharp shrill of the young lady’s voice.

  “Mr. Elliott, fancy seeing you here tonight. What can I do you for?”

  Mr. Elliott replied, conjuring a wry smile, “I need to see him Connie, so don’t give me any garbage about him being too busy or being out of the office. Use those pretty little fingers and buzz me through.”

  “Wow, you just get straight to the point, don’t you, Mr. Elliott? I’m sorry, but he isn’t seeing anyone tonight, and he specifically mentioned you by name. He told me to tell you to have a few drinks, relax, and he’d call you in a few days.”

  Mr. Elliott didn’t like to be told no, so he repeated his request, but this time, he added that it was very important that he talked with him tonight. Connie replied, “Everyone always needs to talk to him tonight, or right now, or it’s life or death. Regardless of your extreme need, you’re not getting back there tonight. So please, go have a drink, and if you have trouble relaxing, I’m sure I can help you get very relaxed later.”

  Connie flashed a quick wink at Daniel and fluttered her hand toward the door. “I’ll let him know that you came by.”

  Mr. Elliott, a master at getting what he wanted, decided to take a different approach. “Well, Connie, I can see that you won’t budge tonight; so I guess I’ll take your advice and head down to the bar. I may take you up on your offer later. Just make sure you tell him that I came by.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Connie replied, “Sure thing, Mr. Elliott.”

  Mr. Elliott began to make his way back to the door, but then quickly spun around and looked back at Ms. Bowers. “Is something wrong, Mr. Elliott?” asked Connie.

  Mr. Elliott responded with a comment about the bracelet that she was wearing. “Where did you get that lovely bracelet?”

  She explained that it was a gift from her mother after she had graduated from high school. Mr. Elliott thought that it must have been a gift from last year.

  “Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

  Connie removed the bracelet, surprised that Mr. Elliott was so impressed with it. “It’s really nothing special, just a nice keepsake.”

  Mr. Elliott held the bracelet in his hand for just a few seconds and handed it back. “It is just lovely, Connie; you should be proud of it.”

  Ms. Bowers took the bracelet back, placed it on her wrist, and replied, “Thanks. Will there be anything else?”

  Instead of leaving, Mr. Elliott just stared back at Connie Bowers and said, “Connie, I want you to buzz me in and then finish painting your nails.” Ms. Bowers didn’t say a word; she reached down, buzzed the door open, and went about painting her nails.

  The adjoining office was twice the size of Ms. Bowers’s area, with a large collection of books lining the walls and a large gold-laced chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The room was unseasonably hot, kept that way to keep meetings short. Though hot, the office had the smell of a doctor’s office, mixed with a hint of brandy and cigar smoke.

  A couple of video monitors were located behind the main desk situated at the far end of the room. Daniel noticed the chair turned in the monitors’ direction. A lump formed in Daniel’s throat as he began to speak, but before he could get any words out, he was interrupted by a deep baritone.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  Trying to mask his nerves, Daniel replied, “I only use it when I have to. Besides, I knew you would try to avoid me tonight.”

  The owner of Club ‘84 turned his chair toward Daniel and said, “Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I want to avoid the most important person in my life?” The sarcasm oozed from the owner as strong as his celebrity-endorsed cologne oozed from his pores.

  The owner of the club was a large man, but in shape. He looked like he could play linebacker for a professional football team. His fingers were well decorated with several gold rings. They complemented the gold chains around his neck. A faint grin spread across his mouth as he responded to Mr. Elliott’s remark, but it was clear he was not happy to see him.

  The feeling was mutual for Daniel Elliott. This was not a conversation that he looked forward to having. In his heart, he wanted to believe that he could convey a message of reason, but in his mind, a fear started to grow that he never knew existed—a fear of the unknown that seemed like a distant dream from another lifetime. Regardless of the outcome, there was no turning back.

  Daniel, whose face was beginning to bead with sweat, snapped back, “You know damn well why I’m here, Evan. You lied to me. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

  The large owner of the club stood up and slowly moved away from his chair. He made his way over to Daniel and calmly put his arm around him. Then, in a very low and deliberate voice, he told Daniel that it was his responsibility to make the final decisions when it came to their ventures and that is what he had done.

  “You knew what you were getting into when we started this, and I’m not about to change course now.”

  Daniel Elliott and Evan Elliott were brothers. They were not only bothers, but they were partners. They were partners in a venture that could define how everyone saw the world. They were partners in a venture that could change the way everyone lived in the world.

  Daniel pulled away from the large arm of his brother and replied, “This is not what I signed up for! I certainly don’t remember agreeing to go along with anything that you put your mind to.”

  Daniel composed himself as his brother walked away and said, “I’ve always gone along with your ideas and your plans because I thought we were both looking to accomplish the same goals. The things that Dad wanted us to do.”

  Evan, now pacing around the room, responded to Daniel, “We are still working toward the same goal; that hasn’t changed. Sometimes things don’t go the way that you expect and you have to make decisions for the greater good. Dad understood that.”

  “The ends don’t always justify the means,” replied Daniel. “We have plenty of time to do what needs to be done; we don’t have to resort to these types of tactics.”

  Evan turned around and made his way back to his desk. His baritone, stern voice lightened to an almost comforting level. He politely turned back to Daniel and said, “We’ve been locked at the hip for a long time. Maybe you should take a little time to figure out if you want to continue working with me on this.”

  Evan grabbed a cigar that had been sitting on
his desk, took a couple of puffs, and said, “You are just as talented as I am; you can go do your own thing. No hard feelings.”

  Daniel sensed the change of tone in his brother’s voice and decided that this was a good time to make his exit. He watched his brother spin his chair back around to look at the monitors, a clear signal that he was done talking.

  Before Daniel left, he looked back to the chair and placed his right hand on his chest. Just as calmly as his brother had spoken earlier, Daniel said, “I am the only one in the world who understands the burden of the choices we make.” He began to open the door but quickly turned around and said, “Brother or not, I’ll stop you from making the wrong choices if I have to.”

  Daniel Elliott left his brother’s office and made his way back through the club to the rear exit, where he expected his car to be waiting for him. Evan Elliott watched him on those same monitors situated behind his desk and began to rub his chest. He began to tap and grab one of the chains around his neck. He talked to himself in a very low whispering voice. It was so low it was as much a thought as a statement.

  The particular chain that he was handling had a small pendant attached to the end of it. The pendant had six small charms, each with a different shape inscribed into the face. His fingers picked up the slight indentations of the various designs that jetted just above the face of the item.

  As he rubbed the pendant, he appeared to go into a light trance as thoughts and memories flooded his mind. He continued to watch Daniel on the monitors, as if waiting for a moment of clarity.

  Daniel made his way through the club and reached the back exit where he was met by two of the club’s bouncers, Scotty and Jimmy. “Ya leavin’ already, Mr. Elliott?” snickered Jimmy.

  “We can probably find ya some company for the night, since it looks like you struck out,” added Scotty.

  Daniel Elliott had never been a fan of Scotty or Jimmy. The clean smell of the office had been replaced by the bouncers’ odors of sweat and cheap booze. He turned around, shot them an ice-cold stare, and said, “What I want you to do is go get my convertible and bring it to the door; I’m ready to leave. Leo should have it ready by now.”