June Street
By John Stark
()
About this ebook
The Benton Family adopted them after their parents committed suicide.
Joy never recovered from the loss of her parents and ended up living in the streets, eventually becoming a prostitute.
Faith became a police officer and spent years searching for her sister. When she finally found her in a brothel, she brought her sister home to stay with her family. But her husband was reluctant to have a strange lady in his house. Evan decided that he didnt want their daughter Estie being in Joys presence, so he had her stay with relatives, which Faith strongly objected to.
Eventually, Joy left her sisters home and returned to her life as a prostitute. Faith kept trying to track her down until finally, she and her fellow officers located Joy among a group of prostitutes and pimps.
Gunfire erupted. Faith frantically tried to protect her sister from the gunfire, but she failed. And Joy died in her arms.
John Stark
Author John Stark is a writer and editor who has been on the mastheads of People magazine, Martha Stewart's Body + Soul, Reader's Digest Walking magazine, and Cook's Illustrated. His work has appeared in the New York Times' "Sunday Arts & Leisure," Newsday, and the San Francisco Chronicle, among other publications. He is copywriter and founder of Three Way Designs, a greeting card company that sells nationally. He lives in Boston.
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June Street - John Stark
Copyright © 2017 by John Stark.
ISBN: Softcover 978-1-5434-3482-8
eBook 978-1-5434-3481-1
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Rev. date: 07/06/2017
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It’s a cold wintry night in Manhattan. In the corridor of a seedy hotel a man’s feet head slowly and stealthily over worn carpeting. He stops at a closed door. His gloved hand reaches inside his coat and a .38 caliber gun materializes. Carefully, he turns the door knob. The murky room absorbs the garish outside city lights. The gunman’s face isn’t visible. On the bed, dimly outlined are a man and woman, high on sex and coke, oblivious to the gunman. The woman is on top. The gunman’s hand rises to the level of the woman’s head and a shot rings out. In the midst of exaggerated passion, she reacts, startled. Hers is a twenty-two year old face, made old by the universal weariness of her profession. Confusion and fleeting horror register. The bullet explodes. She slumps onto her partner. One arm flops over the side of the bed. J
and F
gold letters dance from her equally gold, well-crafted bracelet. The John, a terrified man under the woman tries to pull himself free from her. He pleads to the gunman.
Please, I have a wife, a son….
The gunman’s revolver is against the John’s head. He fires, execution-style. Deftly, the gunman pulls a plastic bag of white powdery coke from the dead woman’s purse, and slips it into his pocket. Next, he reaches for the bracelet. A door leading in from a connecting room opens. A shaft of light falls across the bed. The gunman pulls his hand away from the bracelet. In the doorway, a nude blonde, reeling from a high struggles to focus. Her eyes widen, stunned. She screams. From her hand, a bottle of champagne falls and crashes, spraying foam and glass fragments. The unnerved gunman fires. A bullet ricochets off the door frame, showering the blonde with splinters. Her screams continue. The bleary-eyed face of a second John peeks over the blonde’s shoulder. He recoils and starts screaming to himself. The gunman rushes out the door, down the hotel corridor to the fire exit. Swift as a snake, the gunman glides outside into the alley past three vagrants warming themselves over a fire in a trash can. The firelight flickers over the gunman’s shaded face, barely discernible in the garish firelight. He goes around the corner and onto a street. An overhanging sign reads June Street.
In the background, like shades in an underworld, streetwalkers parade back and forth. The gunman glides past and enters his curbside car, a non-descript job, meant not to attract attention. He revs the car into gear and speeds away. He pulls off his hat. Glossy black hair tumbles to the shoulders. The gunman is a woman - beautiful, elegant. Her deceptively refined face is all tense concentration as she drives into the night. This is a woman who could easily grace the cover of Vogue.
The next morning at Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, in a cozy, older two-story house, Faith Tasker adjusts a .38 in a bellyband at the waist. Faith is twenty-four years old. She smoothes the front of her slacks and rushes downstairs. She’s attractive, athletic, with unmanageable red hair, and projects an intelligent, yet vulnerable independence. On her wrist is a charm bracelet with the letter charms J
and F
- the bracelet is identical to that of the murdered hooker’s. At the bottom of the stairs, her husband Evan, and three year old daughter, Estie put on winter clothes. Evan pulls on Estie’s mittens. He flashes Faith a grin and picks up his briefcase. He’s twenty-eight, bearded, thoughtful, kind, with a hint of anxious dissatisfaction. He motions Faith to hurry. She grabs her coat and purse from the hall closet. Estie grabs her teddy bear. Evan picks up Estie to carry her out. She protests, pushing against him. He puts her down.
Like mother, like daughter.
Evan shakes his head in amusement and they go outside. The snow-cleared walk leads from the row of houses, past the patchy snow-covered front yard to the Honda sedan in the driveway. Faith backs the car out of the driveway. Evan straps Estie in the seat between them. Faith pulls over near a subway entrance. The impatient driver behind her blasts his horn and gives her the finger, as he screeches past. Evan yells out the window.
Asshole!
Estie covers the ears of her teddy bear. Evan is shame-faced.
Sorry, Estie.
Estie says nothing, but consoles her teddy bear. Evan leans over and kisses Faith.
Be careful with your briefcase. Pickpockets work the subways.
Evan is nonchalant.
The only thing they’d get is some poorly written English papers.
He kisses Estie and gets out, holding the door open, talking.
Bye, sweetheart. See you later.
Lick-rish,
daddy
Right, the red kind. I won’t forget.
He shuts the door. Faith smiles and waves goodbye. Evan waves back, before descending into the subway.
Later, in front of a brick house on a Brooklyn street, Faith briskly walks