Death Sentence: A Novel
Language: English
Pages: 209
ISBN: 0871311984
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Paul Benjamin was an ordinary New Yorker until a gang of drug addicts killed his wife and raped his daughter. When the police proved helpless, Benjamin tracked and killed them one by one. Now he is in Chicago, and the cycle of violence is about to begin anew. On his first night in the city, he stumbles out of a bar in a bad part of town, pretending to be drunk. When two thugs set upon him, he kills them both and escapes before the police arrive. They will not be the last of Chicago’s criminal class to suffer his wrath.
Written by Garfield as “penance” for the success of the grisly film adaptation of Death Wish, this sequel shows that when a decent man relies on violence to settle scores, murder becomes addictive.
the sum of her answer. The young lawyer snapped his case shut and moved away across the aisle. His rigid back expressed his anger. Paul leaned forward. “Excuse me, Miss …” Her dark hair swayed when she turned; her alert eyes reserved suspicion. “Yes?” “I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re on the district attorney’s staff?” “Yes, but if it’s about a case pending before this court I can’t …” “It’s not. I’m only a spectator.” Her face changed: it made clear her opinion of the morbid curious.
a real hard case would rather get drilled by a three fifty-seven magnum than by one of these with hollow-points. A big gun’s likely to shoot straight through you and leave a clean hole. One of these doesn’t pack enough power to go all the way through cartilage. You get one of these little bullets stuck in the middle of you and you’re liable to die from the sepsis unless you get it removed and cleaned out by a good surgeon. A man who knows his guns will respect one of these when he finds it aimed
fitfully. “What scares you, Paul? What are you afraid of?” “Death. Pain. The police. I don’t want them to find out who I am.” “Is that all?” “Them. The ones in the streets.” “You’re afraid of them.” “That’s why we’ve got to fight them.” “Is it? Is that why you hunt them?” “It started in blind anger. I wanted revenge. Retribution for what they’d done to my wife and my daughter.” “But it changed?” “There are still such things as good and evil.” “You see it as a crusade?” “I don’t know.
Irene carried her drink to the window. The blinds were open; frost rimmed the edges of the plate glass. “It’s a marvelous view from here. You’re very lucky.” He moved to her; he felt her spine beneath his fingers. “Think of all the frantic parties tonight.” “I never go to those. A quiet evening for me. My God, kazoos and noisemakers and funny hats.” “And Auld Lang Syne and kissing everybody in the room.” “I’ll go for that part,” she said; she gave him a sideways look, up from under; she was
concentrate on every detail, get it right, forget nothing. “What’s this gizmo?” “Trash compactor.” “My goodness. You’ve really got all the mod cons in this building. Dishwasher, compactor—is that a self-cleaning oven?” “I’m waiting for the self-making bed.” “And the self-vacuuming rug. Wasn’t there a Ray Bradbury story …?” She accepted the highball and moved back into the living room. “What’s your resolution for the new year?” “I don’t know. What’s yours?” “Haven’t you noticed—I haven’t