The Jamaican Killer
I was lonely. I sat in a prison cell, on a cold, hard prison bed. I was there for a crime I didn’t commit. I know who the real killer is. He’s still out there, and he has my father. He wants to kill him. I must get back to and rescue my father.
Rewind to about a week earlier. I sit comfortably in my soft, leather seats, with the radio blasting out AC/DC. I grip tightly to the steering wheel. The speedometer reads seventy-six, as I roar down the highway.
I turn on an intersection and go to a downtown basketball court. My friends are hanging out playing some ball. I step out of my Chevelle and come up to them. They welcome me with hugs and handshakes. “How you doing Fred? Good to see you.” greets Dusty.
“Now we got our fifth player and we’re ready to go.” said Jeff.
The guys were playing a bunch of young, Jamaican kids. They all looked to be about seventeen. My friends and I have a four-year advantage on them. Except for Dusty, he is seventeen, too. The Jamaicans said, “Let’s start the game.” “We’ll let you start with it.” said Dusty. We checked the ball and the Jamaicans started off with it. These guys looked like they never played basketball in their life. We whooped them! The Jamaicans couldn’t hit any of their shots, while we were hitting all ours. I drained about eight three pointers. Jeff had a few dunks followed by an occasional reverse lay up. When the sun went down and the Jamaicans couldn’t take it anymore, we decided to head back home. I hopped back in my ’69 Chevelle and cranked up some Van Halen. I drove back to my apartment.
Some days I like my apartment, and some days I hate it! Ever since I got laid off at the car shop, I
have had to sell almost everything. I had to sell all my furniture, half my clothes, and I couldn’t pay the rent at my nice apartment. So I had to move to this much cheaper and rundown apartment. I still got to keep the ’69 Chevelle, though.
Also since I moved, I lost my father. A Jamaican gang captured him, when he was coming home. I don’t have my mom with me anymore either, because she died when I was five years old. I go up into my apartment and open up a bottle of Jack Daniels. I drink down the whiskey, while I’m resting on my ripped up, old couch. I notice a piece of paper taped to the door. I walk up to it. It reads:
“ I know who you are. I have your father. If you want to see him alive again come find me. –Dante’”
I fall back into my couch. I am stunned to know that my dad is alive and that someone has him. I hop in the Chevelle and drive up to Jeff’s house. He lets me in and I tell what happened. I ask him if he knows who Dante’ is. “Yes I know who Dante’ is.” said Jeff. “I used to work with him. He seemed nice, but sometimes he was creepy and mysterious.” continued Jeff.
I ask, “Do you know where he lives?”
“Yeah, he lives in Johnson’s old house.” answers Jeff.
“I know where that is.” I said. I drive on over to Dante’s house and find no one home. I ask the neighbor if they’d seen him. They tell me that Dante’s been gone for a few days. “Well, what car does he drive?” I asked. “He drives a 2002 Dodge Ram.” replied the neighbor. I want to go look for my dad, but I am exhausted. So, I head back to my apartment and crash into my bed. I wake up the next morning and I am still tired. I only got four hours of sleep.
Most of the night I spent having nightmares about my dad. I get the phone and call the police. I tell them to keep a lookout for a 2002 Dodge Ram. I wait the whole morning and I get no call back from them. So, I decide to go to the beach to try to get my mind off of my dad. There are a lot of people at the beach, as always. There are a lot of tourists and Jamaicans at the beach.
I sit down at a bar that is made to look like a hut. I ask the bartender for a Sam Adams. I try to think of other things by looking at the people on the beach. But that only makes me think of when I was little playing with my dad. I can remember playing with my dad and splashing in the water. He would throw me up into the air and he would catch me above the water. I can remember my mom resting on the sand under the sun. I can remember my mom sun tanning and building sand castles with me. We would laugh and play together all day at the beach.
The day turns to night and most of the people have either gone home or to a hotel where they’re staying. I am still at the bar and I still have my dad on my mind. I stare up at the moonlight. It reminds me of when my dad and I would stay up and watch the stars through a cheap, toy telescope. I ask the bartender for another round.
Suddenly, this guy comes up to the bar. He has a blue jacket, black pants, a cigarette in his mouth, flip-flops, and a golden watch. He looks like he’s from Europe. He has a thick mustache and his hair is thinning around the top of his head. He turns his head and glances at me. Then, he turns back to the bartender. His eyes bulge out of his head. He turns back to me. He asks, “Are you Fred Montero?”
"Yes I am." I say.
He drops his arm down into his jacket, and pulls out a small pistol. I slowly back up and then sprint towards the parking lot. He aims his pistol at me and he fires it. The bullet misses me and puts a dent in a car hood. I quickly duck down behind a pickup. I hear his footsteps come towards me. My heart beat races. I hear him reload his gun. He is standing on the other side of the pickup. I throw my Sam Adams bottle at him. The bottle shatters and smacks him on the side of the face. I stand up and find his wallet next to me. I pick it up and look at his driver’s license. The man’s name is Dante’. My heart stops. I can’t move. This man has my father. Dante’ slowly gets up from the ground. We see each other. He reaches for his gun. I take off running again. He shoots, but hits a man walking by me. The man hits the ground dead. Dante’ just killed this man. Dante’ is coming towards me. I say to him, “Where’s my father?”
“You don’t need to know that?” said Dante’.
“Why did you take him?” I asked.
“Well, a few years ago I was charged for the murder of three people. Your father was working the case against me. I was found guilty by the judge and was sentenced to life in prison. I escaped and plan to kill him and anyone who tries to stop me.” said Dante’.
Dante’ pointed the gun at me. He cocked the gun back. “I plan to kill even you.” said Dante’. Suddenly, sirens were heard in the background. Dante’ took off and I was surrounded by cops and a dead man Dante’ killed. The cops brought me in for murder.
I was lonely. I sat in a prison cell, on a cold, hard prison bed. I was there for a crime I didn’t commit. I know who the real killer is. He’s still out there, and he has my father. He wants to kill him. I must get back to and rescue my father. I take a spring from the prison bed and use it to unlock the door.
I escape out of the prison and head back to the crime scene. I find a blood trail on the ground. It must have been from when I hit him with the bottle. I follow the trail and I end up at an old, abandoned warehouse. I step inside and see, through an open door, three men, Dante’, and my dad in a room. I pick up a gun on the ground and slowly step into the room. I knock down the first man from behind him. The two other men come rushing towards me. I fire the gun at them and they both fall to the ground dead. I see my dad and run towards him. As I’m trying to untie my dad, Dante’ jumps on me from behind. We wrestle each other and Dante’s gun goes rolling across the ground. I push him off of me and pick up the gun.
I see Dante’ now has my dad at gunpoint. I don’t hesitate one bit. I fire the gun. I hit Dante’ center in the chest. Dante’ falls to the ground dead. I go to my dad and untie him. We embrace each other, with tears in our eyes. It’s over. The killer is dead. My dad and I are together again. THE END
