Inside the Villian's Head

My horoscope for today: It's all about you, baby! The spotlight turns in your direction, and the stars amp up your magnetism. You're practically irresistible. Some might coast on their charm, but not you -- you're all about action.

An Excerpt from Hit and Run -- Villian's POV

Keith read the legal mumbo jumbo again. The words blurred through a red haze of anger. Drawing in a deep breath, he fought against the rage he'd been fighting all his life. Would he never get past the anger?

Jilly had helped him. He'd slept without nightmares for a long time after marrying her. If only--

The doorbell rang. He dropped the papers with a curse. The doorbell sounded again with a relentless shrill. He stomped to the front door and found Roger Parkins leaning on the button.

"What the hell do you want?"

Roger moved and the ringing ceased.

"You know what I want, Carson. You owe me money."

"I told you I'd get it."

Roger shoved his way into the house. "Your time's up. Pay me now, or I go to the cops."

Keith clenched his fists. It would be so easy to take this dope out with one swing. Just one. The anger simmered just on the verge of erupting, but he managed to push it back. His temples throbbed, making it difficult to focus. "I need more time." He opened his fingers, one at a time, releasing the tension.

"How much time?" Pacing across the living room, his frayed pant cuffs dragging the floor, Roger tried unsuccessfully to portray a menacing offensive.

"Two weeks," Keith responded.

"Too long." The pacing continued.

"What's your hurry, man?" Keith asked. "I told you I'd get it."

A noticeable tic pulsed under Roger's right eye. "I need it now."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I've been waiting weeks already. You're stalling me."

"I'm having a little problem getting my hands on the cash. Give me a week."

Roger pointed a finger in Keith’s face. "One week, or else." He glared at Keith for a moment, spun and scurried out the door to his truck as if the devil were on his heels.

"Don't hold your breath," Keith muttered.

Roger gunned the motor and the dark blue pickup fishtailed away.

Stupid loser. He'd never see a penny of the money. Every dime belonged to Keith. He'd earned it. Paying Roger wouldn't get him off his back. He'd blackmail Keith forever if he buckled. Besides Keith had plans of his own. Plans that didn't include a wife, a sobbing kid, or this hillbilly junction.

He sauntered back to the kitchen and picked up the papers again. He'd have to find a way to deal with the turn of the cards. Swallowing the last ounce of beer, he smashed the empty can against the table. Staggering into the living room, he dropped into his recliner. He had no intention of giving Jilly a divorce and no intention of paying blackmail money to the druggie.

Keith stretched out his legs and folded his arms behind his head. Roger had to be dealt with. Keith couldn't take a chance on letting him run off at the mouth to the cops. Roger knew about the prostitute in Denver. It was an accident. Keith hadn't meant to kill her. His mistake was running and now he couldn't stop.

Anger had been the bane of his existence since he'd left his old man for dead all those years ago. Usually he could control it, but sometimes it got too intense. It was during one of those moments when he'd hurt that prostitute.
He had to silence Roger soon.

The wheels began to turn.

He had a lot of planning to do.