Beyond the Veil

Beyond the Veil, Chapter 7 Preview

Dear friends,

I am in the polish phase of my second novel, and wanted to share an excerpt. It is not a stand-alone story, so inferences will have to be made. To pull the curtain back some, Samantha is one of my favorite characters. She is cathartic to write, as I still suffer from PTSD twenty-five years after my first diagnosis. I hope this scene conveys some of her complexity.

Before the Dusk was very much an origin story. It explains how the team came together and what makes each of them special. Beyond the Veil focuses much more on personalities and motivations alongside the action. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it.

Disclaimer: This scene contains profanity and physical violence.

Beyond the Veil

Chapter 7

Samantha slouched on a worn barstool at Petey's Grill, nursing a glass of Old Crow whiskey. Not so long ago, now that she thought about it, she drank the stuff like water. Hell, it practically was water in this joint. Old cigarette smoke and spilled beer overpowered other odors that were far less desirable.

She surveyed the dimly lit dive bar, finding about what she expected. Despite it hosting the dregs of humanity, Samantha enjoyed Petey's in limited doses. There wasn't a lot that did it for her these days. The rush of someone shooting at her and missing, the warm fuzzies after great sex, and the pleasant tingle of adrenaline in a place like this, where everyone in the room was dangerous. Hanging out here made her feel alive.

Raucous laughter and slurred conversations filled the air, but beneath the white noise of so much babble, a different sort of chatter caught her attention.

"…dropped dead, right there on the factory floor. Foaming at the mouth and everything."

"It's that new shit. Stuff rots you from the inside out."

"My cousin took some last week at a party. Wasn't right in the head for two days…"

Samantha leaned forward, straining to hear more. The conversational buzz painted an ugly picture. A new drug meant a better drug, and better usually defined profits over consequences. Users were chasing the ultimate high and paying the ultimate price. Seizures, organ failure, madness, it was straight out of a horror movie.

The whiskey met her expectations. Samantha grimaced at the taste of well liquor in a place where top-shelf was the cheap shit. It was what she'd been told would identify her to the bartender. Did Jessie use that same rot gut shit to identify all the people who wanted to talk to him, or was it some kind of code to the staff?

Samantha grinned as she tapped her glass on the bar, signaling for another. Why the hell not? If the world was ending, then she might as well get good and lubricated. That was always a good thing, right? This whole mess was worse than she'd feared. If Bliss was connected to Carter's problem with the Martins, they were all in a world of shit.

What to do about Carter? They came from worlds about as opposite as it got. He was a trust fund baby who kept falling in shit and climbing out smelling like chocolate donuts. Except for this latest business with his voodoo book club, it seemed like silver spoons kept falling into his mouth. Despite all that, he seemed grounded and genuine, which was a rare find.

She, on the other hand, was a first-class fuck-up, who all but ran away from home, living in one foster home after another in San Antonio until she was old enough to join the Marine Corps. There was no looking back after that, not after what happened to her Abuela and the revelation that her father was in deep with the cartels. The way Samantha saw it, her father may as well have pulled the trigger.

Samantha could lie to a polygraph and get away with it, but not to herself. She kept dismissing it as adrenaline and good sex. It was true enough that Carter's bed was way better than the cot in the pool house. She knew it was more than that. Something about the goofy way he looked at her made that hollow place a little less empty. Would that work in the long run? Could she handle that? Everything the questions implied pissed her off.

This whole thing was on her terms. She didn't owe Carter anything. Except, didn't she? He was the first person in a very long time, maybe ever, who looked at her that way. To him, she was more than a good time or a weapon to aim at his problems. How long since anyone else had looked at her and seen a person? How long since she had?

"Buy you a drink, girl?" The question scattered her thoughts, like an image after someone threw a rock into a pond. She followed the sound of the voice.

A man two seats down raised a glass. He had one of those square jawed faces that had occupied her teenage imagination and a snake tattoo coiling up his neck. He wore a short sleeve shirt that clung to him like a second skin. Samantha took in his chiseled physique and scarred knuckles briefly. His leering gaze roved over her body, banishing any question about what he might want. Samantha couldn't help the lopsided grin. It wouldn't be out of the question this time last year, but she told herself she had come up in the world since then.

"Some other time." She slid off the barstool and tossed a crumpled ten on the sticky counter. Samantha sighed when she heard a rustle of movement behind her, followed by the creaking of old wood.

"Wha's your hurry?" Sneck slurred from behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

Samantha let him spin her around, using the momentum to drive the knuckle of her thumb into his temple. A vicious knee shot to his groin doubled him over, and he reflexively put both hands over his junk. She slammed the side of his head into the bar, and that was that. Sneck crumpled to the floor and lay there, unmoving. As blood trickled out of his left ear, Samantha reached into his pocket and pulled out a money clip. He'd probably live. Might even learn something about talking to strangers, but she wasn't holding her breath.

"Jayzuz" the bartender said in a low voice. He kept looking from her to Sneck and back.

"There that is." Samantha offered an apologetic shrug as she tossed a fifty on the bar beside the ten and pocketed the rest. "I'm afraid our friend here had one drink too many and tripped on his way to the bathroom."

"Got it." The bartender palmed the fifty with a nod. "Jessie's downstairs. Said you'd be here."

Samantha nodded and made her way toward the back office. As she wove through the crowd towards the exit, more snippets of conversation followed her like a toxic cloud.

"...found her in an alley, her eyes all black and her skin crawling with...with something..."

"I heard one taste and you're hooked..."

"…government's behind it, some kind of population control."

Samantha shouldered through the door onto the loading dock, gulping in the crisp night air. Her head swam from the hazy smoke in the bar and the implications of what she'd heard. The area gripped by fear, and the Martins lurking behind the whole thing. But why? No, scratch that. She knew why from Carter, though she understood fuck all.

She leaned against the brick wall for a few precious moments, letting the cool air clear her head. A freight train rumbled past on the tracks behind the building, its whistle echoing off the industrial buildings that lined this part of town. When the sound faded, she checked her watch. It was almost midnight. Carter would be worried, but this couldn't wait. Besides, she only answered for her whereabouts during working hours.

She needed to learn more before reporting back to Carter and the others. They had to get a plan together before this Bliss issue got more out of hand. She had an appointment that would either yield what they needed or test Carter's clout to keep her out of prison. She was never sure which way it would go here.

Samantha pushed open the door to the "office," which was just a room with a phone, a desk with a few chairs, and a few storage cabinets.

The guy at the desk had a haunted look about him. His eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles, and his gaze darted nervously around the room as Samantha came in. The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke.

"I'm here to see Jessie," she said, then she put both hands on the desk and leaned forward a little. "He's expecting me."

"Uh…yeah, okay. Just a sec." The guy gave her a mechanical nod. His hands shook a little as he reached for the phone.

Samantha studied him as he punched a number into the desk phone. There were track marks on his arms and he had that face all junkies seemed to share, like someone painted skin on a skeleton. She didn't have to be the Dean of Pharmacology to know when a man was in the grip of something terrible.

Probably something like Bliss.

"That girl is here," the guy muttered into the phone. He said it like he was sulking. There was a pause as he listened to the person on the other end. "No fuckin' way. You come out here and search her." Another long pause, then he hung up and reached under the desk. Samantha heard a click as a lock disengaged. "He's downstairs. Watch your step."

Samantha nodded curtly and moved toward the middle cabinet. She tugged the double doors open to reveal a narrow staircase leading down. At the bottom, the hallway was dimly lit. Smoke drifting on the air, unlike up above, had a sickly-sweet smell that made her stomach churn. As Samantha approached the end of the narrow basement hallway, a heavy steel door loomed in front of her. She stood there for a few minutes, her breath making small puffs in the chilly air as she waited.

Finally, a light over the door came on and it creaked open. Samantha stepped into a much nicer lounge area with plush carpets, soft lighting, and soft jazz music. Two large, brutish bouncers, Jeff and Noah, waited inside, arms crossed and eyes fixed on Samantha.

Jeff, the larger bouncer with a ragged Pink Floyd T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, eyed Samantha warily. "You got any weapons on you, Sam?" he asked in a voice that would make a drill instructor jealous.

"No," Samantha replied, but she nodded to indicate the affirmative and gave the guy a look that implied, duh.

Jeff sighed as he shook his head. "You know weapons ain't allowed inside."

"Not that you know of," Samantha waved dismissively at the suggestion. "I mean, you could strip-search me, I guess. Make good choices."

Noah glanced at Jeff, and they exchanged nervous looks, then both men laughed.

"Alright, alright." Jeff waved Samantha through. "But no trouble, okay?"

"Yeah, Sam," Noah nodded his agreement. "We don't want no repeats of last time."

"Don't worry, guys." Samantha laughed as she patted Jeff on the shoulder and high-fived Noah. "No trouble this time. Trust me."

She scanned the room as she made her way to the bar. The clientele here was a crazy mix of high-rollers and lowlifes, all united in their pursuit of whatever vices were considered the flavor of the month. If it was for sale, everyone worth knowing knew it was here.

Jessie was at a table in the corner just past the bar. His gold tooth caught the light as he smirked over a glass of some kind of brown liquor Samantha probably couldn't afford. Last time he was drinking Johnny Walker Blue like it was soda. The Hawaiian button-up shirt was loud enough that it almost hurt her eyes. There was no missing Jessie, who was always dressed like he was heading to a beach party instead of running an underground brothel and drug operation.

She took a calming breath, steeling herself for the imminent conversation. Jessie was a slippery bastard, but his fingers were in every pie. He was as close to friends with Tommy DiLorenzo as either man got. That greased the wheels for him and discouraged any competition that hoped to survive long enough to make a profit. Jessie would know what was going on if anyone did.

Samantha inclined her head when Jessie saw her, and she spoke words that strike fear in the hearts of smart men.

"We need to talk."

Jessie leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Hello to you too, Sugar," he drawled, his eyes glinting in the low light. "Wow! It's Samantha Ramirez. I was wondering when you'd come knock-knock-knockin' on Jessie's door."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial she had pickpocketed from one of the gatekeepers upstairs. The contents shimmered with an unnatural glow like the vial contained nuclear waste. She placed it on the table between them and fixed Jessie with a steely glare. "Cut the shit, Jessie. You know why I'm here. I need information on this."

Samantha's eyes narrowed as she studied Jessie's face. The guilt etched into his features was an emotion she'd never seen him display before. It unsettled her, hinting at just how bad things might be. She glanced back to the vial of Bliss. The iridescent liquid seemed to dance and swirl within the glass, casting an eerie glow across the table. Jessie drummed his fingers against the table in a rapid staccato. He'd had that nervous habit since she'd known him. The gold chains around his neck clinked softly as he shifted. His fake tan looked sickly under the orange lighting.

"I didn't know it would be like this," Jessie confessed, his voice losing some of its bravado. "It's not just a high; it's a death sentence." He ran a hand through his hair. His gaze darted around the lounge.

"And now you just feel so awful." Samantha was already bored of his bullshit. "Let me guess. If you could just go back to fentanyl, you would. That about right?"

Jessie leaned forward, his voice dropping nearly to a whisper. "Listen, Sam, this is some serious shit. A few weeks ago, these mercenaries showed up outta nowhere. I'm talking ex-military types, all decked out in tactical gear."

Samantha's brow furrowed. "Mercenaries? What did they want with you?"

Jessie reached for his glass and took a long drink. That seemed to brace him nicely. "They shook the street dealers until one finally gave me up. By the time I knew they were sniffing around, they knew everything."

"I'm listening." Samantha kept her face neutral but her stomach was in free fall.

"Not much else to tell," Jessie said, his voice barely audible. "The ultimatums came right after 'hello.' Said we could either distribute this new drug, Bliss, or take a long dirt nap."

Jessie's gaze slid across the lounge, and he leaned in a little closer. "They didn't just threaten me, Sam. They made it clear my family, friends, anyone I ever so much as been kinda cool with, anyone was fair game if I didn't take the deal."

Samantha sat back, rubbing at her temples. "Jesus, Jessie. Why didn't you say something? We could've worked it out, found a way to protect you."

Jessie shook his head, and his laughter conveyed contempt more than amusement. "These guys were professionals, Sam. They weren't some bunch of knee-cappers and finger breakers. They were ruthless and almost eager to make a point.

Samantha looked down at the table as she sorted through the mental pieces of the puzzle, trying to find the straight edges to at least build the frame. The mercenary part was an extra helping of shit on the sandwich. Who controlled the puppet strings connecting Jessie to the Martin family? Powerful people never got their hands dirty. Not really.

"What about money, Jessie? How did they pay you?" Samantha's eyes narrowed as she watched his reaction.

"That's the thing, Sam." Jessie didn't look her in the eye, but he wasn't lying. He was just ashamed for being such a bitch. "They paid me five hundred grand and told me I could keep the profits from the stuff."

"Everything?" Samantha's eyebrows shot up.

Jessie favored her with a bitter smile and nodded wearily. "I thought it was too good to be true. But they insisted, said it was part of the deal."

"The fuck is wrong with you Jessie?" Samantha scowled, her mind whirling with the implications. "Free always comes with a backdoor special. You know that."

"I don't know, Sam." Jessie shrugged. "I like breathing. That's what scares me the most. It's like they don't care about the money, or heat, or anything. Like they are above it all and something has to go down right now."

Samantha looked back at the center of the table, moving the pieces around.

“So, what now?” Jessie looked scared and lost. He had to be a lot of both if he was actually asking her. That gave her pause. The man was insufferable on a good day.

“I don’t know, Jessie.” Samantha said absently as she leaned back in her chair, considering. “I don’t wanna violate my probation. On the other hand, I’d really like to rip a leg off the bottom of this table and beat your brains out while your people watch.”

He was smart enough to let her think. All the things implied by Jessie's confession were too much for a split-second decision. The Bliss problem was more than just another oxy epidemic in the making. It was a full-blown black helicopter, jet contrails conspiracy. The involvement of mercenaries and that bullshit financial arrangement hinted at a dangerous conclusion. Samantha had seen and heard a lot. This beat it all.

"I'll find a way to stop this," she finally promised. "But it’ll cost you."

“Name it,” Jessie said without hesitation. Damn, was he desperate.

“Tell me everything you know, Jessie. Every detail, no matter how small. Lives depend on it, especially yours. Start with where it’s coming from."

The pusher-pimp turned informant licked his lips nervously. "I don't know for sure, but there’re rumors. Some bigshot outfit owned by a guy named Martin. Word is he has heavy connections, resources, the works. Fast as this shit took off, it would take that kind of network.

Samantha's blood froze at the mention of the Martin name. Jessie thought it was a first name. It was still enough to get him killed.

She closed her fist around the vial. The glass was too warm against her palm. She'd sworn an oath to defend this country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. No one had ever released her from that oath.

Samantha stood abruptly, startling Jessie. She tucked the vial into her pocket and felt the calm settle over her, that icy stillness that came from the dead part when she needed to do what had to be done. She considered it. No. Jessie was just a pawn. He was too smart to kill the customers. He had it coming, but not today. She needed what he had. She pulled her phone out of her jacket and texted “Sam” to Jessie‘s number.

"Send me everything you have on Bliss. Names, sourcing, dealers."

Jessie must have realized she had gone to that place. His lips quivered and he fidgeted as a wet stain spread across the front of his white Dockers. He swallowed hard but nodded. "I'll do what I can. But be careful out there. The people behind this…they ain't playing around."

"Neither am I." She turned and headed for the door.

The End of Chapter 7 of Beyond the Veil

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