A Sneak Peek of "Motivation to Kill" - prior to publishing with Hay House publishers...🔪
Motivation to Kill
Prologue – Target 1
A young fisherman sat at the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently for his next drink. Humidity and the familiar smell of a salted spray wafted in. He sighed, brain itchy with frustration and arm pit stains the size of cereal bowls. Fishing the ash filled seas with the fires at the Bay had been rough this week, all he’d caught was an already half dead flat head and a baby ray. The tourists, the town’s main source of income had hurriedly left the area last week. Shortly, a well-dressed man entered the bar, sat down on the stool beside him, ordered a Grey Goose Martini and said a warm hello. The fisherman had just started his sixth drink when the well-dressed man asked him how his day had been. ‘Fucking rough’ he replied’. The man flinched. He found swearing to be grotesque. ‘I understand’, he replied. The young fisherman, now heavily drunk at all of nineteen years old started to vent. ‘The locals have it pretty tough right now, unlike like those rich bastards who come down when it suits them to their fancy coast houses. I haven’t seen one rich bloke help with the fires to date. Did you read about that rich prick who has a beach house someplace up on the point? anonymous of course. He could be publicly donating, supporting the locals, but instead he bought that wanky, pretentious piece of shit painting for a 100 million dollars. You know the guy who painted that blurry shit? Well, I hope his house burns down, painting too’. The well-dressed man’s face hardened. It was him who had bought the Monet. He stood up and made a gesture that he was leaving. The next day the young fisherman was dead.