“Area code three-two-three,” Jessica agreed glumly. Sickened to find the plan still retained all its dark beauty, even after it no longer mattered. “Same as Jerome Keanen’s room number.”
Chaucer turned to stare her down. “You had it. You could’ve wasted the man who’s responsible for all this…” He motioned back towards the gutted apartments. “This future site of yet another off-campus dorm for over-privileged drunks… but you didn’t.”
Jessica turned her back to him.
Her home had been taken away. Her once dedicated boyfriend was on parole for an attempt on her life. She had blown the whistle on an unfairly prosecuted man, sent him back on the lam to be hunted like an animal. And the woman who had spent the past three years tending to her every need was awaiting trial in a Verona jail cell.
But Kendra Kincaid was still out there.
Her mother was alive.
Jessica had to believe that much was true.
The air was pierced by the angry beeps of a truculent bulldozer. Trampling the grass, looking to get a better angle on the last remaining tree stump of a once full-grown magnolia. High up in their metal crow’s nest, overworked men methodically chipped away at the windows.
“Why didn’t you do it?” Chaucer repeated, gently taking hold of her chin.
The children continued to play, soccer ball bouncing from foot to foot. Their joyous cries tickled the skies, blissfully unaware that just a few feet away stood a young woman who could have gotten away with murder.
Why not, indeed?
“I don’t know,” Jessica confessed, lips trembling. She stared up into the world-wary eyes of the last man standing. “Don’t that beat all, Chaucer? I still don’t know…”
She buried her face deep into her palms.
Eyelashes fluttering against her lifelines as she gave into it and finally let herself cry.
###
***
Connect With Joaquin Emiliano Online
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***
Props, Shout Outs, & Secret Crushes.
Without the following people, there would be no Angry Jonny. Blame them.
A paralyzing tirade of props to my big brother, Rodrigo – creator of websites, cinematographer, and postproduction genius behind all promotional motion media. A busier man there never has been, and he managed to turn a twenty-four-hour day into twenty-seven without a second thought. Of all the projects we’ve worked on together, I don’t believe he has ever been more accommodating, easygoing, and supportive than this time around. There should be a naked statue of him in the Louvre (and for all I know, there is).
Eternal reflexive thanks for my mother and father. I may not have asked to be born, but I also doubt I could have asked for more supportive parents.
Robin was there from the very inception of Angry Jonny. She put up with a lot and didn’t get nearly enough in return. She nudged and guided, allowed for the possibility of the impossible, and coaxed what miniscule good there was in me to get us through it all… Also, she introduced me to the healing powers of blueberries, kale, and beets. There’s a good chance those are the only things holding this abused body together. Heart you.
Thanks to my sister in-law, Melissa and my lovely, insane nieces, Isabella and Catalina. This trio of women/ponies are a constant source of invaluable strength and levity. If I could grind them into a fine powder and sprinkle them in my drink, I’d probably be arrested soon after. Smooches to all.
Angry Jonny was written largely on a balcony belonging to one Marybeth. For years, she gave me shelter, dealt with empty bottles and overstuffed ashtrays, and let me use her front lawn to gradually sell everything I had. If Hemingway were alive today, Marybeth would be kicking his ass up and down the Florida Keys.
On the subject of shelter, writers aren’t known for their real-estate savvy (actually most writers aren’t known at all). Beyond the realm of Marybeth, I would be remiss if I left out Robin, Harris, Natali, David, or Rachael. Each one of these individuals, at one point or another, kept me safe from the elements. Thanks for putting me up, and putting up with me.
Commas exist. Semicolons exist. Clauses and tenses also exist. I’m simply never sure where they do. For this reason, I could not be deeper in debt to Raul Clement. He singlehandedly proofread this work, and transformed it from Frankenstein’s monster to Frankenstein’s Angry Jonny. Never has there been a better punctuation wrangler. Never has there actually been one to begin with. He is amazing.
Book covers don’t just happen. Jeremy is a stellar designer and a hell of a friend for coming through in the clutch. He is also quite an APP creator, so think of him every time your smartphone informs you how your big toe feels about the films of Ang Lee.
Jonah had better things to do than to help me with video promotions and research questions. Yet he did. What a jerk.
Did you know that societies have laws? A king’s ransom worth of props to Seth for sharing his vast knowledge of criminal law, procedural investigations, and the random knowledge he keeps stored in that enormous head of his.
Mad props to my journalistic inside woman, Bailey. When it comes to research and fact-checking, she handles it as magnificently as she does all things – kicking wide swaths of ass. She is an invaluable, irreverent, and inimitable piece of work… just don’t piss her off.
Promos can be a pain to shoot, especially for those who work around their jobs and busy schedules to step in front of the camera at my request. Thanks to Seth (again), David (again), Achiri, John, Alonzo, and Cristina for breathing serious life into the abstract.
On the subject of actors and actresses, an extra loud shout-out to Anna; very few high school seniors would let a strange, thirty-four-year-old writer duct-tape them to a chair in a creepy basement for the sake of art. And if you are a fan of the book cover, her beautiful mug may just be one of the reasons why. (An extra-special, transitive shout out to Jacob for keeping her company during the entire ordeal).
Promos can also be a pain to score, especially for those who have jobs and one of the best bands in the universe. Fat whole-notes of pure gratitude, then, for John Booker and Rachel Hirsh of I Was Totally Destroying It. Three years is a long time to remain excited about a project, and they maintained their resolve far longer than would be expected of anyone with far better things to do. (Added props to J & R as early guinea pigs for the first draft of Angry Jonny – thanks for being either psyched, or dishonest about what you read… I accept both in lieu of actual confidence).
Props to Sara Rose for allowing me to exploit her connections and for pointing me in the right direction whenever needed.
On the subject of making connections, Danny put me in touch with two very key people involved with this project. He vouched for me without much reason to, and not a lot of people named Danny would do that for me. This one did. Much peace and much love.
Rachael; there’s not a whole lot of ground this lady didn’t cover throughout the process. From her meticulously improvised skills in the realm of makeup, to guiding me through the bizarre world of social media, to offering me a smoke-filled room to edit the shit out of this novel, to offering enthusiasm and constructive criticism in the closing hours of this project, to informing me what my favorite porn stars were posting on Tumblr. Most of us spend our lives in a corner. When she’s in yours, there’s not a hell of a lot you have to worry about.
A fat set of kisses (XXX) to my illustrious coworkers, whom I shall allow to remain anonymously sexy for their own protection. A finer group of adult retailers there has never been. They covered for me when my own selfish pursuits took me from the glories of selling adult DVDs and sex toys. Also, I have a boss, and he hired me… without an actual source of income, all I would be eating are these words.
And a final shou
t-out to all my followers on every last form of social media in which I swore I would never indulge. No telling yet, but there’s a chance you have made all the difference.
Peace out, y’all. I’ll be bothering you again soon enough.
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