Wednesday
By- Dennis Sharpe
Genre- Thriller/Suspense
Published By- Booktrope Publishing
“When everything in life has been against you, who can blame you for not playing nice with others?
My name is Wednesday. For the last seven years, I was the property of a sadistic bastard named Klein. Now he wants me dead- only he doesn’t have the balls to kill me himself.
Alvin, the hitman Klein sent to do his dirty work, decided to save my life (repeatedly) instead of taking it. Now we’re on a wild cross-country run from Klein’s goons.
It’s a rollercoaster road trip with constant personality clashes as we dodge bullets and swap cars, share fast food and cheap motel rooms. Our journey is full of pain and laughs, torture and growth, tacos and lots of guns; there’s a lot of hair dye, blood, and tears. Sometimes finding true redemption comes at a high cost.
And, no matter how much someone cares about you, they can only do so much… can only go so far. You are your only real shot at coming out on top.
Sometimes reclaiming your life requires a body count.
-Wednesday Valentine”
"I’D TRACKED HER for a bit. Done my homework, ya know? Her patterns and habits. But up close with her... with Wednesday, that was something I was altogether completely unprepared for. She was a stick of dynamite in a box of identical road flares." Alvin said it with nostalgia. He was completely unaware that he said it with the pride of a father. That wasn’t lost on Boyle.
Boyle wanted to put a bullet in Alvin’s head and go finish her off now, once and for all. Sitting here and listening to this long and winding tale of woe, just so he could relay it to Klein later, was not
even close to something he wanted to do.
"I’ll never be able to forget the first time I met Wednesday Grace Valentine in person," Alvin said, and then shook his head before continuing. "I followed her from Klein’s place the night before... in
Jersey City. That penthouse place... his ‘office.’ Ya know? The one with the garden up on the roof. I can still see that bright blue head of hair... over that leopard print jacket and boots. She broke in, got what she wanted, and got out fast. Right under their noses... those mooks he put on the place to grab her if she showed up, never even knew she was there. It was kinda impressive... ya know? To watch, I mean. But outside of that... she didn’t make for a hard mark to track. I followed her... to a little apartment in the West Village. It was actually a lot like a closet with a kitchenette. I’d still bet that the rent... was enough to buy a used car outright."
A horrible snorting sound filled the air as Boyle hocked up a mass from his throat and spit it onto the floor less than a foot from Alvin’s head. He didn’t even seem to notice, still lost in the memory
he was relaying.
"I could still hear his voice... in my head saying, ‘She just doesn’t need to keep breathing. You got that, right?’ I just nodded... I knew what he wanted, but it was either the day... or the look of her – something –and I just couldn’t do it. She wasn’t just another mark, she was a girl. A little girl," Alvin said, sounding as though he still couldn’t understand what came over him, "I guess some part of me knew, before I even went in there, that... I couldn’t do it. But once I talked to her, forget about it... It was all over for me."
"Damn. See... and I heard she was a really obnoxious bitch." Boyle could barely keep from laughing as he spoke.
"Yeah, and I heard you were a piss poor shot," Alvin snapped back, gesturing with his eyes to the bullet holes he was bleeding from. "You can’t believe everything you hear."
About the Author-
Born and raised in the middle of the American Midwest, Dennis Sharpe has been a writer as long as he can remember. His mother has told many people about the fantasy and science fiction stories he'd write on scraps of paper, and staple together as his 'books', before he'd attended his first day of formal education.
He has spent many late nights at diners and dives, drinking coffee with a tattered notebook to put a voice to his feelings of himself and the world around him, and other worlds that can exist only in fiction. The voices in his head don't ever stop talking to him, and so sooner or later he has to get out onto a page all that they've filled him up with.
Inspired by Neil Gaiman, Kurt Vonnegut, Frank Miller, Chrissie Pappas, Charles Bukowski, Stephen King, Issac Asimov, and countless classic literary influences, Dennis continues with the ability to write what at a glance might seem absurd, but quickly begins to resonate with our own thoughts and emotions. He writes people we know, love we've known and lost (and found again), and places we've been in our lives and in our heads. Even his fictional characters and worlds carry enough of the grey areas we experience in day-to-day life, to let us find the truth in his words, no matter how fantastic.
These days he can be found still writing, drinking coffee with friends, or spending time with his children (the true joys of his life), in Western Kentucky.
Links-
Website- http://dennis-sharpe.com/
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