The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Chapter I
Only a heavy rainstorm on the plains and forests of Equatorial Africa could compare with the pouring rain that spring afternoon in San Diego. The gray clouds hung so low, they seemed to scratch the tops of the buildings. The raindrops grew even bigger and more intense. As the air cooled, the rain changed to hail, creating a terrifying, gray fog.
Perhaps this was why the residents of San Diego preferred not to go out at that time of day and why institutional and company offices closed at 5:00 in the evening.
This may also have explained why a group of masked criminals chose that hour to rob the Bank of America on Washington Street which appeared to be almost deserted.
At the appointed time, three robbers exited the bank’s main door. They carried weapons and several large plastic bags, where, it seemed, they had stashed their ill-gotten gain. They rushed toward a car where a fourth robber sat behind the wheel. His eyes shone with fear, and his gaze followed the other three robbers. Yet another robber stood at the bank’s main entrance. He held tight to his gun which he pointed at the customers and workers. Terrified, they had lain down on the bank’s marble floor with their hands behind their heads.
“If any of you makes even the slightest move, I’ll blow your brains out!” the robber shouted.
The people in the bank seemed frozen in place. After he looked around, the robber retreated and rushed out. As he ran down the stairs, he collided with an old man who carried an umbrella. Only the devil knew why he had chosen that time to go to the bank. The robber struck his head with the barrel of his gun and kicked him in the stomach so hard that the poor man fell. Afterwards, the robber hurried to the car, got in, and the car sped off.
The customers and bank workers remained motionless for a few more seconds. Only one worker dared to look toward the door. When he no longer saw any sign of the robbers, he stood up and sounded the alarm.
After about two or three minutes, two police cars stopped in front of the bank. The customers, still frightened and unsure of what to do, looked on as the worker, flanked by two of his colleagues, told the police chief what had happened.
“We need to block all the roads out of San Diego,” the policeman said to his subordinates.
Meanwhile, a car had left San Diego for Long Beach. The driver, a young man about twenty-five years old, wore a black leather jacket through which a black shirt was visible. His long, black curly hair, his thick, black eyebrows, and his rough, black beard, which nearly covered his handsome face, made him look sad and sullen. His eyes barely moved under his knitted brows as if he were convinced something bad was about to happen. Without realizing it, he drove at breakneck speed. Perhaps he had forgotten that a police car might stop him and ticket him.
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He came to himself and slowly took his phone out of his jacket pocket. When he saw the name Max Cooper, his eyes darkened, and his lips tightened.
“Yes, Boss,” he said, his voice flat.
“Listen, Nik,” said Max Cooper. “I just heard on the radio that in San Diego, some masked robbers escaped after having robbed a bank, and they are headed for Long Beach. The police are patrolling the intersections of the roads that lead there. Where are you now?”
“In a few minutes, I will be where the street goes uphill and then downhill,” the young man answered.
“Stop there. The police might question you, too. You had nothing to do with the robbery, but the thing is, they might find the drugs you are carrying.”
Kreshnik was stunned. A twisted line formed on his forehead.
“What should I do?” he asked.
“Stop at the bottom of the hill. Stuff the packets of drugs into the bag I gave you, all of them if you can. They are just as valuable as you are. Understand?”
After these words, the young man grew somber.
“And then?” he asked, fluttering his eyes.
“Then do as we discussed in cases like this. Save yourself, but most important, save the drugs. Go toward the forest, run as fast as you can, cross the stream, and disappear so that all traces will be lost. Then stop at the bridge, hide under it, and call me. I will drive there and pick you up. Got it?”
“As you say, Boss,” he answered. He was worried now.
“Well, good luck,” said Max, and hung up.
The driving rain, now mixed with hail, continued to fall without mercy and pelted the car windows, as if wanting to break them. The rain fell just as hard on the pavement, and the gilded beams from the headlights emitted an eerie glow. Still, Nik pushed the car even faster and stopped at the road’s ascent. To the right, the road sloped downward at a sharp incline. Kreshnik threw himself into the back seat, quickly took a knife out of his pocket, and cut up the material that covered the inside of the car. With trembling hands, he took out the thin packets of drugs and began to stuff them into the bag he had left in the back seat.
When he had completely filled the bag, he put as many of the remaining packets as he could in his jacket pockets and under his shirt. Filled with fear, he looked to his left, then to his right for any passing cars. After that, he raised himself to his full, athletic height and got out of the car. He pulled up the hood on his jacket to protect himself from the rain. He took off the car’s license plates and threw them hard toward the other side of the road. Then he went back to his car and opened the trunk where he kept his luggage. He was about to take out a large can when he saw a car coming from the opposite direction. He left the can in the trunk, closed it, ran to the front of the car, lifted the hood, and pretended to fix the motor. He watched the approaching car out of the corner of his eye.
After a few minutes, a tall man got out of the car and approached Kreshnik. Nik could hardly contain himself. He tried to look calm and grasped the revolver which he carried in his jacket pocket.
“Do you need anything, my friend?” the tall man asked as he steadied his wide-brimmed hat. “Although it would be hard to help you in this awful weather.”
“No, thank you. It was a small problem, which, fortunately, I can fix myself,” Nik explained.
“Very well,” said the man, and waved to him. Nik waved back. He followed the man with his eyes until he got into his car and left.
By now, Nik had calmed down. After he scanned both sides of the road, he did as he had planned a few moments ago. First, he drove his car to the side of the road and left it running. He took out the bag and stashed it far away from the car. Afterwards, he took the can, lifted the lid, poured gas on the seats and into the motor, and threw the can in the car.
Then, he lit the lighter which he kept in his pocket, set fire to the car, and pushed it with all his might toward the steep hill. It careened down the hill, and at the bottom, it exploded like a giant bomb.
Shivering and gasping, Kreshnik grabbed the bag which was as heavy as lead. Although it took a lot of effort, he began to run in the opposite direction. As he ran, two packets slid down the shirt under his jacket and fell on the road’s slippery asphalt. Kreshnik whirled around, picked them up, and shoved them under his shirt. He continued to run through the rain and looked for a place to go down the hill. (Continues)
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About the Authors
Carrie Hooper was born and raised in Elmira, New York. She has been blind since birth. She received a B.A. in vocal performance from Mansfield University, Mansfield, Pennsylvania. She went on to receive an M.A. in German and an M.A. in vocal performance from the State University of New York at Buffalo. After completing her studies, she spent a year at the Royal University College of Music in Stockholm, Sweden as a Fulbright scholar. Carrie currently lives in Elmira, New York. She taught German, Italian, and Romanian at Elmira College. She has a passion for foreign languages and in addition to the languages mentioned above, she is also proficient in Swedish, Spanish, and Albanian. Music also plays an important role in Carrie’s life. She teaches voice and piano lessons, gives vocal concerts, plays the piano and organ at a church, and sings in a community chorus. Carrie not only loves music and languages, but also enjoys poetry. She has published three books: “Piktura në fjalë” (“Word Paintings”), a bilingual collection of poetry (Albanian-English), “My Life in My Words”, and “Away from Home.” She has also translated texts from Albanian and Romanian to English.
Skifter Këllici was born in Tirana, Albania and received a diploma in history and literature from the University of Tirana. He worked as a journalist, scholar, and sportscaster on radio and television. He is the author of several novels and nonfiction books, including the children’s books, “Memories of the Old Neighborhood” and “In the Footsteps” as well as the historical novels, “Assassination in Paris”, “The Murderer with the White Hands”, and “September Disaster.” He wrote the screenplay for “In the Footsteps” which won a special prize at the International Children’s Film Festival in Giffoni, Italy in 1979. He has lived in Boston, Massachusetts since 1999.
[The book ‘Disastrous September is being reproduced in episodes with the consent of the author]
