Conspirators of Revenge
by
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Frank, at around 12: “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” (Do you speak German?) Otto asked as he put his left hand on Frank’s forehead, pushing the back of his head firmly into the pillow. “Nein (No). Who are you?” Frank responded, having enough composure to remember the simple word for “no” in German, and comprehending that the cut was obviously not deep enough to have severed any major vessels. It was still oozing blood, but for the moment, he knew he was not going to die, not with this wound. “What do you want?” “You shut up and listen only! You understand me?” Otto said, in his heavy Germanized-English accent, while applying more pressure to Frank’s head with his left hand. He then placed the knife back against Frank’s throat and told him to blink his eyes if he understood. Frank blinked his eyelids. “Now, you will do what I say, just as I say to you, or I slice your head off your body. You understand?” “Yes, I understand you.” Frank’s head felt like a hundred pounds was lying on his forehead. He could not see the full figure of the man standing over him, because his head was in a vise-like grip. He could only move his eyeballs as he felt the cold steel against his throat. “You get up from the bed, and you walk in front of me to the kitchen. You try anything stupid and I kill you quickly. You understand?” “Yes.” “Now, get up slowly from the bed!” Brunner ordered as he lightened the pressure of his left hand on Frank’s head. Frank sat up in the bed, slowly swung his legs to the right, and began to stand. At this point, Otto quickly put his left hand again on Frank’s forehead and, with the knife held in his right hand, placed its cutting edge against Frank’s throat. Then, with his knee and the order “to the kitchen,” he started guiding his hostage toward the room where he had placed the gym bag. It had been just before He guided Frank into the kitchen, with the bedside lamp providing enough light for each of them to see the interior of the room, and then ordered him to sit on one of the three barstools, the one nearest the hallway. Otto then re-enforced his order for Frank to remain motionless, as the big German leaned over only far enough, never letting his eyes leave Frank, to lift the black bag off the kitchen floor. He placed it on the countertop in front of the young man. Otto reached inside with his left hand and removed the brown paper sack he had gotten from the convenience store. He then felt around in the gym bag again until his hand rested on the other item he would need. He took it out, and Frank could tell, even in the dim light, that it was a brown rectangular-shaped bottle. Otto turned it and moved the bottle close enough for Frank to read the manufacturer’s label. “What does it say to you?” Otto asked his knife-held hostage. Frank strained his eyes, and after a moment, he could clearly see the label. He hesitated, looking at Otto with puzzlement, and he had a sickening feeling in his stomach, as he now began to grasp the possibilities. “What does it say, I ask you?” Otto repeated. “It is Chloral Hydrate.” “Good, so you know what this is, do you?” “Yes, I know what it is.” At that point, Otto removed the quart of orange juice from the sack. By now, Frank had little doubt what was on the mind of this man. Formats Book Details
Frankie Laursen’s past is dark with drugs, dangerous bikers, and an association with a dishonorably discharged Even after Frankie has completed law school and changed his name to Frank B. Holst, the young courtroom virtuoso appears to be cold, cunning, and contradictory. However, one cannot help but wonder whether his behavioral patterns portend a sociopath or a man driven by benevolent forces less superficially seen. The brilliant but troubled only son of multimillionaire Within weeks, the lead criminal investigator on the case, Preston Hargrove, persuades the District Attorney’s office to issue an arrest warrant for nineteenyear- old Frankie. Young Laursen is charged with pre-meditated murder in the death of Anna, the only daughter of a wealthy and a socially prominent Common sense criminal investigations, forensic dentistry, the science of fingerprinting, bullet ballistics, and cold-blooded violence climax into a captivating tale of intrigue, which explores the inner workings of the human heart and the consequences for those embittered souls who seek “an eye for an eye”—the conspirators of revenge. Dr. J. John Portera was formerly an Associate Professor of Dentistry at the University of Mississippi Medical Center and conducted a private practice for many years. He obtained his education at the University of Mississippi and the University of Louisville. Since his retirement, he is a self-taught sculptor, student of military history, and has a passion for the American West, as well as his native Deep South. He is currently working on his fourth book, another thriller. A motorcycling enthusiast, he loves riding his black, Harley Lowrider. He is the father of three daughters.
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