Purity Pursuit: A Gripping Crime Thriller (Private Detective Heinrich Muller Crime Thriller Book 1)

by Robert Brown

  “You little idiot, you think that thing will work after all these years?”

  “You killed my uncle and now you want to kill my friends,” Jan said, trembling.

  “Your uncle was weak and deserved to die, and little hoodlums like you will die in the new order too. You’re useful as tools at this stage, but once we have power you’ll be as useless as that old gun you’re carrying.”

  Jan’s face twisted with a mixture of grief and rage. He held up the gun and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  Hans laughed and pointed his pistol at the boy.

  Gabriela stomped on his foot, smacked his arm to ruin his aim, and dodged out of the way as Heinrich threw the hammer at his head.

  The hammer caught him behind the ear. Hans stumbled, dropped the gun, and turned on him. Heinrich cursed. He hadn’t had time to put enough force into the throw.

  Hans reached for the gun, but Gabriela kicked it out of the car before he could get to it.

  Heinrich grabbed him by the collar, spun him around, and pushed him further into the car.

  “I have a gun in my pocket but I’m not going to use it,” he told the neo-Nazi. “Instead I will kick your ass and hand you over to the cops.”

  Hans got into a karate stance.

  Oh yeah, forgot about that.

  Shrugging off his worry, Heinrich squared up.

  When facing an opponent of unknown skill, it’s always a good idea to let them make the first move.

  Heinrich didn’t have long to wait.

  Hans rushed forward, gave a front kick that forced Heinrich to step back, then a roundhouse kick that was supposed to have gone for his head but only reached Heinrich’s midsection.

  Slow, too. He blocked it easily.

  “Not as limber as you used to be, Hans?”

  Hans replied with a straight punch to his face. Heinrich blocked this too and gave back a one-two punch that sent the neo-Nazi staggering.

  Heinrich moved in for the kill, got a kick to the shin that taught him not to get cocky, and gave the bastard a right hook.

  To his surprise, Hans managed to block it with his forearm, knocking Heinrich’s arm away enough to leave him open for a counterattack.

  But Hans was too slow. By the time his fist reached where Heinrich’s face had been, the boxer had already dodged to the left and was coming up with a left uppercut that buried itself in Hans’ stomach.

  The neo-Nazi doubled over with a whoosh of air, leaving his face the perfect target for a right uppercut that sent him flying off his feet to crack the back of his head on the wooden floor.

  Heinrich swooped down on him to give him a knockout blow to the face, only to find he was knocked out already.

  Heinrich punched him anyway. Then punched him again. And again.

  When he had finished, Hans was a bloody but still living pulp on the floor. Heinrich had made sure he still lived. The son of a bitch would not cop out of facing justice.

  They left him where he lay. Shutting the door to the boxcar, Heinrich used the old MP 40 to jam the latch closed.

  “Let him get a taste of prison,” Heinrich said. “His first cellmate can be all those old useless files.”

  Useless files.

  They went to each boxcar in turn and found nothing but the same. Heinrich flipped through some files and found they were all military documents from the eastern occupied territories—personnel lists, deployment orders, quartermaster inventories, all the minutiae that made up the administration of one of the largest, and briefest, empires the world had ever seen.

  An invaluable treasure trove for historians.

  Worthless to everyone else.

  The three of them walked out of the tunnel, stunned into silence. Without a word they scrambled up the pile of loose earth and came out into the night. Heinrich made it about three more steps and sat down hard on the ground. Gabriela sat beside him.

  She began to tremble and weep whether from the disappointment of the train or her wound or the shock of being in a gunfight he didn’t know. Probably all three.

  Heinrich put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. She pulled out her phone and tried to make a call.

  “Still no signal,” she sniffed. “I need to talk to him. I need to talk to my boyfriend.”

  Heinrich shook his head.

  I don’t get the treasure, I don’t get the girl… what do I get?

  Jan belched.

  Oh, for Christ’s sake.

  Jan had opened the cooler and discovered that the neo-Nazis had brought some food and beer with them. He was already well into his second can.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Three months later…

  It was his final wrap-up meeting with Amethyst Briggs, and he was looking forward to it not only because it would be the last time he would ever have to see the old bag, but also because he had some bad news for her.

  The Polish government had decided to give him, Gabriela, and Jan a reward for finding the train and solving the murder of Dieter Freytag. At least some members of the government also felt grateful for now having a reason to ban the Purity League. They had wired him a nice chunk of money. It wasn’t the seven-figure prize he had hoped for if the treasure train had really contained treasure, but it was enough to remodel his apartment and get a few rare 78s he had been eyeing. He was even considering splashing out for an Edison Cylinder Player.

  He didn’t know what Gabriela planned to do with her share. Jan’s was put in trust until he reached eighteen.

  The best part of the reward was that they had decided not to give Amethyst Briggs anything.

  Sitting in her Nazi-themed drawing room sipping tea, Mrs. Briggs looked disappointed but not surprised.

  “That money could have done a lot of good in the world.”

  Heinrich cocked his head. “So you really would have donated it all to gypsies and homosexuals?”

  “Yes, and as a matter of fact I’d like you to post a couple of things for me.”

  She handed him two envelopes.

  “I’m done working for you.”

  “I think you’ll want to do this. Look inside.”

  Heinrich opened the envelopes, which Briggs had stamped and addressed but not yet sealed, and saw both contained checks for $25,000. One was for a gay rights group in Russia and the other was for helping educate Roma children in Poland.

  “Huh.”

  “Not as much as I would have liked to give,” Briggs said.

  “I don’t get it. You admire Hitler and apologize for the Third Reich and then you turn around and give money to the people they tried to exterminate.”

  “As I told you before, while I think Hitler and his party did great things for Germany, they were too blind and radical and led to its ruin. They should have focused on the nation’s real enemies instead of punishing those on society’s fringes.”

  “By real enemies, you mean the Communists and the Jews.”

  Instead of answering, Briggs said, “The gypsies are a social problem, but that’s only because no government has seriously tried to integrate them. Killing them is a pointless waste of potential labor. If they refused to conform, sterilization and forced labor was the obvious solution. That could have also been used on mental and physical defectives instead of killing them. As for homosexuals, recent decades show they can be integrated into society, and they act as their own sterilization. Hitler made a serious misstep eradicating such people when he should have focused on defeating the real enemies. As a result, he sullied the very ideals he stood for and made it impossible for new leaders to follow in his footsteps without the liberals whining of a new Hitler. Donations to these causes may go a small way to reversing the damage and rehabilitating the image of the party.”

  Heinrich wished his tea had been hotter. It would have been fun to fling it in this idiot’s face.

  He remembered something he had read in a book somewhere, some English noblewoman before the war who had some of Germany’s new elite over for t
ea. She had commented that the Nazis were the politest people who said the most awful things.

  Even so, these groups sounded like they deserved the money, so what difference did it make where it came from?

  “All right, I’ll mail these for you. By the way, may I use your restroom?”

  “Certainly, just go down that hallway. It’s the second door on your left.”

  Heinrich went into the bathroom. Frilly baby blue decorations and scented soaps everywhere. She had an old-style claw foot bathtub and toilet had brass fittings. He put up the seat, unzipped his fly, and pissed in a big half-circle on the floor around the toilet.

  Feeling much better, he went out, took the letters, and bid Mrs. Briggs goodbye.

  The next morning, he had a far more welcome conversation. He turned on Skype to have his twice-weekly chat with Jan. It was a Saturday, so the kid wasn’t in school.

  Jan appeared on his screen. His hair had grown out, and he wore respectable clothes now, both rules of the halfway house he was in. Behind him Heinrich could see the living room. It was a comfortable and somewhat Spartan place. Various kids lounged around chatting with each other and one of the counselors. Posters on the walls gave motivational messages or lists of house rules. While not the homiest place Heinrich had ever seen, he knew it was a hell of a lot better than the emotionally toxic dump Jan had been living in.

  Jan’s face lit up.

  “Hey, Heinrich!”

  Jan looked happier and healthier every week. He also looked a hell of a lot younger.

  “Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

  “Great! My teacher says I’m top of the class in German and English.”

  Actually going to class had done wonders for his language ability. His Skype calls with Heinrich had helped too.

  “How about your other classes?” Heinrich asked.

  Jan shrugged. “Fine.”

  That translated to “barely passing”. Heinrich had learned a new language. It was called Teenager.

  “Well, ‘fine’ is good enough for now. You’re going to have to get those grades up eventually though. Good news, buddy. My reward money came in.”

  “Cool! What are you going to buy with it?”

  “I’m thinking of a vacation in Poland.”

  Jan pumped his fist in the air. “Awesome! When are you coming?”

  “I’m planning for the week after next.”

  Jan bust out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re coming just in time!”

  “Just in time for what?”

  “Gabriela and her boyfriend are getting married. She invited me to the wedding. Much better food than this place. Want to come?”

  “Not really,” Heinrich replied as Jan continued to laugh at him.

  “You never did get that pussy. It’s Internet porn for you!” Jan said.

  A shout from off screen made him stop.

  “Oh crap, I just got a demerit. You’re not allowed to swear here.”

  “I guess you don’t speak much.”

  “Ha ha. I got to go. Email me your flight when you get it.”

  “I will, buddy.”

  “That is if you can. Your keyboard will be very sticky today.”

  “Wiseass.”

  “Bye!” Jan waved and logged off.

  Heinrich leaned back in his chair and smiled. He’d been trading emails with Jan’s counselors. The kid’s progress had been rocky to say the least, but he’d settled down in the past couple of months and they were optimistic that he would put his past behind him. They said that the old wounds of the past would fade now that he had a present worth focusing on.

  Heinrich got out of his seat and prepared his living room for when the guys came over. He’d gone a bit crazy at Minnie’s yesterday afternoon after getting back from Westchester County and he had a nice stack of 78s to try out. He set out some drinks and cigars and looked around at his living room, tidy and organized for a change. He imagined what it would look like once it had its remodel—a paint job, some new shelving, fresh carpet, maybe some new furniture. It would finally look decent instead of a pigsty.

  He’d have them come in while he was in Poland so he wouldn’t have to live with the sound of hammers and the smell of paint. He figured two weeks would be good. He could get to know the country and show Jan around a bit. He wasn’t a relative so technically he wasn’t allowed to take him out of the halfway house, but Gabriela’s friend ran the place so they’d let it slide. The favorable press he’d gotten in Poland didn’t hurt either.

  Yeah, it would be a fun trip, he thought with a smile. Maybe he had a present worth focusing on too.

  Small plea from the author

  Thank you very much for reading my book it really means a lot to me to know that people have taken the time to read my words.

  As a new independent author, I would be grateful if you could leave an honest review of my work. If you enjoyed this book or maybe have a genuine criticism I’d love to hear your feedback.

  Also, if you liked my writing you can get my first book which is previewed and linked below.

  Thank you so much.

  Robert Brown.

  Preview of “Deadly Illusions” the first book from Robert Brown

  She remembered applying for the job. She remembered meeting the strange man in the middle of the London streets, and she even remembered what he looked like, despite the mask that now concealed his face.

  What she didn’t remember was how she had gotten here.

  In her field of work, it was rare to come across malevolence. It was one of the truest art forms still alive. Her industry was full of genuine, creative performers with a rare passion for their work. The only downside was that their flair for theatrics often spilled over into their everyday personas.

  But this wasn’t theatrics – something sinister was unfolding before her. She remembered sitting in a chair in the middle of his rehearsal space. Then, suddenly, she felt a small prick against the back of her neck, as he told her she would.

  And then everything was gone. In her line of work, she often heard the term “a deep sleep” but such lines were never accurate. Very few people, if anyone, could cause people to fall into “a deep sleep” on command, and the participants who did succumb to such instructions were simply playing along.

  But she wasn’t playing along. This was real terror.

  In the confines of a gigantic wooden box, her torso had been strapped down to its base. Her arms and legs had been stretched as far as her joints could withstand. She felt as though they might tear from their sockets at any minute.

  Despite her wriggling, nothing came free. Her hands, feet and head all sprouted through purposely-cut holes in her place of imprisonment.

  And then her tormenter returned. He ran his hands gently over her feet. She began to jerk her body with as much force as she could muster but her tight restraints kept her glued in place.

  “Do you know what comes next?” he asked.

  It was an absurd question. She certainly knew what came next. In all other cases, the hands and feet sprouting outside the box would be fake, giving her the freedom to move around while maintaining a simple-but-effective illusion.

  However, something told her this wouldn’t be the case now.

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she burst into tears. Asking why he was doing this would be of no benefit to her. Even with the grotesque black rubber mask he wore over his head, she knew this man possessed the eyes of a psychopath.

  The masked man leaned toward the center of the box. From above, he pulled down a saw blade. The woman screamed in horror.

  To her surprise, the masked man removed the blade from the saw. However, her moment of relief quickly vanished when the blade he removed hit the ground. It barely made a sound. The blade was made of plastic.

  The woman’s eyes widened when the masked man pulled something from below her box-coffin. It was an almost exact replica of the one he’d just removed but somet
hing was slightly different.

  It was solid. It was heavy. When he placed it on top of her box, he did so with a thunderous clang.

  The blade was real.

  Thick, reinforced steel. He pulled the saw mechanism closer to himself and loaded the metal blade inside it. With his dead eyes resting on the woman’s squirming body, he backed away from her.

  “No, please,” she said through tears. “I can help you.”

  No words came in response. Instead, he moved out of sight.

  All she could see was a gigantic steel blade about 10 feet above her torso. It was perfectly placed above her mid-section. Usually, now would be the time when she would be safely out of harm’s way, preparing to give her audience the impression that she’d been horribly mutilated.

  The blade above her swiftly dropped. A deafening scream filled the air inside the man’s lair. It was the kind of scream that couldn’t be faked.

  If you enjoyed this preview of Robert Browns first book Deadly Illusions, then please follow the link below to read the rest of this thrilling encounter.

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0776M8KGV