Cold Blooded Assassin Book 8: Rule of Nightmare (Nick McCarty Assassin)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  * * *

  “At least Rhonda works for the bookstore.” Nick found the bookstore’s employee list with Jean and Sonny sitting on either side of him. “I could probably ruin this cute mystery with a single call to her tomorrow.”

  “It will be fun, Dad. We’ll arrive for the book signing. If it’s weird, we’ll leave. We’re less than a mile away from it.”

  “Okay… but I want to go on record as hating surprises or mysteries.”

  * * *

  “This is a great looking building.” Nick stood with Deke sitting next to him on the Park Street side of the bookstore with Gus, Jian, Johnny, Cala, Sonny, and Jean. “I’m beginning to hope this signing happens even in an empty store.”

  Rachel parked their Ford on the Lighthouse side of the corner, in front of the bookstore. Nick walked Deke to the Ford. Rachel and Tina exited the SUV while Nick undid Quinn from his car-seat. Rachel handed Nick the beef bone for Deke to munch on in the Ford. “It’s chilly this morning. April in paradise.”

  Nick left the Ford windows partially down in the front. “Yep. The ocean breeze howled between the houses on our way down the street too. If this isn’t a hoax, we may get a good crowd in here. I’m ready to play out any episode.”

  Gus pointed at Nick’s equipment. “Ready in what way, Muerto?”

  Nick stopped. “No grenades or explosives of any kind, Payaso. I brought proof of who I am… at least my background in the military, and the agencies I consult with. I brought my writers’ credentials and proof I own my place in Pacific Grove.”

  Jian looked confused. “I do not understand. Do you need to prove who you are to do a book signing where they already know who you are?”

  “Sort of,” Nick answered, moving toward the door again. “We’re only appearing here today for fun. If it becomes a problem, we’ll walk the hell out of here. The mystery will be solved shortly.”

  Nick led the way inside. A dark-haired woman matching the picture in the employee files for Ronda Ceries approached at a hurried gait in black slacks, white blouse, and high heels that brought her to about Rachel’s height in tennis shoes. She stuck her hand out to Nick with a big smile.

  “I’m so glad you came Mr. McCarty. Hardin told me you and he were old friends. This will be such a blast with two pulp fiction, bestselling legends here for our mystery author event.”

  “Why did you tell my agent I would be filling in for Travers?”

  “Hardin told me it was a bit of a prank, and you two do it to each other all the time.” Rhonda appeared genuinely confused at Nick’s clueless look. “Did I misunderstand?”

  “I don’t know Hardin Travers personally or professionally. I’m here because I genuinely wanted to see the inside of your bookstore and hopefully fill in adequately for Travers. Does this mean he’ll be here too?”

  “Yes. Oh my… I’m sorry, Mr. McCarty. Why would he do such a thing?”

  Nick patted her shoulder. “We’ll find out soon. We’re going over to have coffee, tea, and pastry rolls until opening. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. Thank you for your understanding. Then you really don’t know Hardin Travers?”

  “I know who he is. I am not his friend. It will be interesting to learn what this dual author signing meant to him. I don’t see this as a misunderstanding other than a yet to be determined ploy by Travers for a yet unknown reason. I will give the talk, answer questions, and sign anyone’s book upon request. Is it okay if my friends and family have a coffee and roll together?”

  “Of course. Thank you for coming. Please help yourself to anything you like in our café section. I would never have participated in anything like this if I’d known you two had never met.”

  “It’s okay, Rhonda. I love your bookstore. I can’t say I hate Amazon’s digital store. I get the majority of my sales through Amazon’s digital marketplace. I like your idea for a book exchange and used book section. That, coupled with your instore café will help you to compete. I’ll do book signings here anytime you invite me.”

  “That’s great, Nick! This is a rough business. It was the main reason when Hardin called to suggest this ploy, I was happy to do it.”

  “Do you have security in place for this?”

  Rhonda blushed. “No… I should have, but the expense is very steep. I know you’ve had problems at other book signings. I figured since no one knew you would be attending our surprise author gettogether, there wouldn’t be any difficulties.”

  “You’re probably right,” Nick replied. “Were you able to get a consignment of books?

  “I did. We are stocked in Nick McCarty’s novels.”

  “Excellent. Let me know in advance and I’ll try and stop in for a couple of hours anytime you want me to.”

  “Joe from the Monte Café talks about you any time he stops in for a book. I’m sworn to secrecy as to what his favorite series of books is.”

  “Thank you for that. Joe’s been busting my chops for many years over pulp fiction. It will be our secret. Joe is a very good friend of mine. My wife, Rachel, works at the Monte.”

  Rachel shook hands with Rhonda. “I’m glad you didn’t know anything about this deal with Travers. I love your café/bookstore. I’ll coerce my friends Tina and Cala to walk with me to visit with my baby Quinn.”

  “That would be wonderful, Rachel!”

  “I’d like that,” Tina said. “I’ll take a cab up the hill to home though.”

  “I will walk with you, Rachel.” Cala moved near Rachel. “We must pressure the T-Rex into walking more, especially uphill. She’s been filling out into the same tail proportions as her namesake.”

  “You can’t bait me, Reaper. Just wait until you’re in the middle of postpartum depression and you need me to comfort you while helping with the baby. I’ll say, ‘hey… just walk down to the bookstore’.”

  “Wait a minute! Postpartum what?” Cala hurried after a chuckling Tina with Rachel following. Jean and Sonny, enjoying the adult digs, kept pace with Rachel and Quinn.

  “They’re just trading shots,” Nick told Rhonda. “Want me a half hour from now?”

  “That will work fine, Nick. Hardin turned down all my requests for book signing appearances until he saw the mystery author event. He called me then with this scheme. I’ll see you a little later.” Rhonda walked toward the counter.

  Gus nudged Nick. “This Travers guy wants a piece, huh?”

  “I guess so. If he’s coming to the party we may find out what the hell his intentions were. It’s no big deal. We’re attending a book signing, not a cage match with John Harding.”

  “Uh… you have killed men at your book signings,” Johnny reminded Nick.

  “Shut up, Kabong.”

  Chapter Nine

  Book Signing Stolen Valor

  “Oh my.” Cala pointed at the entrance. Nick’s crew busily fixed their sales table with books, including signed cards, and autographed newsletters advertising his soon to be released ‘Hell Zone’.

  Nick glanced from his autographing task. Hardin Travers arrived with three large chin beard Isis types. They scowled at anyone who looked at them. The main attraction, Hardin Travers, wore a dress blues Marine uniform that form fitted his rotund but huge six-foot, four-inch stature. His darkly trimmed beard stuck out from the collar of the Marine uniform with authority. An energized group of fans bounced around him. Travers glared at Nick, who smiled and waved. Travers turned away.

  “Why are you being so friendly with Travers, Dad? Is it because he’s a Marine?”

  “He was never in the Marine Corps. I saw his picture early this morning on the Internet wearing the Marine uniform. He’s only fifty years old, but he’s wearing a Vietnam service medal. Unless they let him into the Corps right out of kindergarten, I’m afraid he’s a phony.”

  “He has a lot of ribbons on his chest. Where did he get them?”

  “I don’t know, Jean… maybe a pawn shop. It’s okay. We’re having fun. That was a great café experience with the smell of
pastries, books and coffee. I think I could make this place my headquarters.”

  Sonny brightened. “Yes! That’s exactly it. The odors were indescribably good.”

  Jean wasn’t happy with what she learned about Travers. “He’s lucky Lucas Blake isn’t here. He’d make that guy eat those ribbons.”

  Nick enjoyed that word picture in hushed but energetic mirth. “Oh… God… if I had known this jackass would arrive in Marine Corps dress blues with the Force Recon patch, I would have flown North to get him for this event. Hey… what are you doing, Jean?”

  “I’m streaming this to Lucas’s instant messaging,” Jean answered, moving her iPad with the progress of Travers.

  Nick covered his head. “Oh, good Lord… I’m in the soup now. Hep me, Gus… hep me.”

  “Pray Lucas doesn’t see Jean’s stream of this guy, Muerto.” Gus’s immediate seriousness shut off the mirth Johnny and Jian at first displayed. Nick’s iPhone buzzed. “Oh shit! Tell me… it isn’t Ahab.”

  Nick raised his phone screen for Gus’s viewing of Lucas in his Marine combat gear from Vietnam with face camouflaged. Nick put him on speaker. Why should I be the only one to enjoy this? “Hi, Lucas… how the heck are-”

  “Shut up, Delta Dawn! If that bearded prick walks out with that jacket on, you and I will have a moment together. It won’t be pretty!”

  “C’mon, brother… I’m at a book signing with the kids. Jean inadvertently thought you’d get a kick out of seeing him all decked out. I knew better.”

  “Lucas?” Jean popped into Lucas’s view with knife in hand. “I’ll cut the Marine Recon patch off for you!”

  Jean grinned at Nick as Lucas came unglued. Many moments passed before he could look at the screen. Every time he did, Jean struck a new cutting pose.

  “Okay!” Lucas surrendered. “Good one, Jean… you little brat. Promise me you’ll hurt him if you get the chance, Dead Boy.”

  Nick took a deep breath. He nodded. “If it happens, will the patch do?”

  “Yeah… it would be acceptable. You know what-”

  “I know what Marine Recon means, brother. I’m sorry Jean gave you the visual before I could explain.”

  “I know what it means!” Jean barged into the screen. “Sonny and I will be Marines! That Marine Recon patch was worn by men who died for this nation. This fat turd didn’t even serve. I know what stolen valor is!”

  “Stand down! You did good, kid. Your passion makes an old Marine proud. Thank you.” Lucas disconnected as he was getting choked up.

  “Sorry, Dad. I thought Lucas would get a laugh out of the video. I knew better, but I did it anyway.”

  “It’s the main reason when Lucas calls out to John Harding, ‘Recon!’, John treasures it. We strive in the service for the respect of our betters.”

  “You were Delta Force, Dad. Lucas respects you.”

  “Yep. He told me and Casey Lambert when he trained us in the CIA camp that we were almost at Marine Recon level.”

  Jean giggled appreciatively.

  “Marines don’t giggle.”

  “This one does,” Jean retorted. “The talk on writing happens first, right?”

  “Yes. I don’t know if Travers and I are the only ones speaking or not. The guide for our talk Rhonda gave me lists writing style, plotting, and voice.”

  “What does voice mean in a novel?”

  You would ask that. “Describing writer’s voice will not be easy. If a reader recognizes a style of writing as either my work or Travers without any mention of our characters, we achieved distinctive writer’s voice.”

  “I get it,” Jean replied. “I always knew which author wrote what when mom read to me at night. I bet it’s easier to detect writer’s voice when a reader hears someone read to them.”

  “That’s a good point. I may be able to slip that into my talk.” Nick glanced around at the rapidly filling store. “It will be crowded in here today. I can tell that.”

  “I don’t like the looks of the guys Travers brought with him,” Sonny said. “It’s as if he wanted to cause trouble from the start.”

  “Make that two of us,” Gus added.

  “They are not simply associates, Muerto,” Johnny said.

  “I am glad I came this morning.”

  “Just once, Jian?” Cala whispered, referring to his date with the mysterious Joan.

  Jian gave Cala the shaming gesture he learned watching interactions amongst the Unholy Trio. “For shame, Cala… for shame. Johnny checked Joan out. She’s golden.”

  Jean and Sonny looked at the adults expectantly with no explanation as Cala whispered her small verbal gem to Gus, Johnny, and Nick. All three, on cue, gave her the shaming gesture.

  “We will all remain vigilant regarding the three minions,” Nick said. “They eyeball us every few seconds. I believe Sonny’s right. I don’t think Travers would want to start something in the middle of a book signing.”

  “If he’s petty enough to put troll army book killers on competitors’ books, and pretend he was a Marine, I doubt causing a scene here would bother him,” Gus said. “Here comes Rhonda.”

  “I have a dais setting for you and Hardin, Nick. I also have front row seats for your group. It looks like you’re all set for the book signing. I’m really excited about the business.”

  “I think you will sell some books today, Rhonda. Lead on.”

  “This is going to be so fun,” Jean whispered to Sonny.

  “Only you would think so,” Sonny replied in a whisper. “Think of the unintended consequences Nick always warns us about. Four dead bodies, one of them a New York Times Bestselling Author like Travers – not counting innocent victims his idiot minions kill by accident. I don’t think fun is the word for it.”

  “Dad won’t kill the fake. You’re right though,” Jean admitted. “Dad has too many bad hits on his book signing gigs. We can’t do much about it though except stay out of the way.”

  “Right. We need to get down quick so they don’t worry about us and make a mistake.”

  * * *

  Nick finished his talk, hitting on the subjects given to him, incorporating Jean’s point on writer’s voice being more easily detected when read out loud. He had grabbed a copy of Earnest Hemingway’s ‘The Old Man and the Sea’, along with John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’. Quickly picking out two subtle scenes, Nick read them aloud. Many voices called out the correct author from the two choices. His talk elicited loud applause at the close.

  Travers took over the podium, agreeing with Nick about writer’s voice. “Many of us skilled hands at this art, employ a more literary flavor in our writing, rather than the slam/bam approach. Wouldn’t you agree, Nick?”

  “Absolutely,” Nick agreed. “I’m neither Hemingway nor Steinbeck. I admit I’m a storyteller rather than an artist.”

  Travers nodded, returning to his talk, which droned on past his time slightly as he regaled on the hard work needed to complete passages readers feel mistakenly to be minutiae. “In conclusion, the tapestry must be created with order and detail. Otherwise, it resembles one of those splash paint pictures.”

  Travers sat down to mild applause. Rhonda stepped to the microphone. “We have time for a few questions.”

  A lady stood in the middle of the third row of seats. “This is directed at Mr. McCarty. Talk, talk, talk – your novels need more care in plotting and a lot less conversation. They’re certainly not spy novels.”

  Nick waited. When the woman didn’t go on. “Thank you. Was there a question in there somewhere?”

  Nick’s response drew repressed amusement to the consternation of the young woman. “Please address my critique of your style.”

  Nick shrugged. “There’s no need to. I love writing interaction between characters and allowing the storytelling to proceed from the characters’ views. I won’t be changing my style. Lastly, my character Diego is an assassin, not a spy.”

  “Speaking of your character, Diego,” a man on the left called ou
t as the red-faced woman sat down to a smattering of applause, “He seems too polished. Nothing ever really happens to him. He survives practically unscathed. Don’t you think he should be challenged?”

  “I chose writing about an assassin because I knew what I loved to read in pulp fiction novels. I changed what I didn’t like about the genre. Most writers I followed in the genre used a common ploy in their writing. They threw their character into sometimes ridiculous danger, which many times led to ridiculous escapes. I wrote in the genre with a more logical approach to how a cold-blooded assassin would think. There is a reason the deadliest assassins throughout history were rarely caught: they had no connection to the victim, they researched and formulated plans for insertion, execution, and escape. Once free of the area, they were never seen again.”

  “So, you’re saying when writers pop in illogical situations for their main character to fall into, it’s a tool?”

  “We all use tools,” Nick answered. “One of the reasons I love the Pulp Fiction genre is I get to pick the tools.”

  Nick’s response evoked an amused response from the audience.

  A woman on the other side of the audience stood and pointed at Travers. “This question is for you. My husband died in Mosul. He was Marine Recon. You ain’t no Marine, and you’re wearing ribbons not in your age group, moron. You were practically a baby in diapers when the Vietnam War took place. Where did you get a Vietnam campaign ribbon, the local pawn shop? What the hell gives you the right to wear a uniform, men who died for this nation served in, poser! Marine Recon patch… bullshit! You have a lot of nerve coming here today in that uniform, shithead! If my husband was alive, he’d kick the shit out of you and tear off that Marine Recon patch with his teeth!”

  Dead silence reigned after the woman’s spot-on assessment.

  “Well… poser? Say something, you stolen valor freak!”

  Sweating profusely, Hardin Travers moved to the microphone. “I…I wore this uniform as a tribute to-”

  “Bullshit!” The woman pointed at him threateningly. “Take the blue jacket off or I’ll take it off for you!”

  “Really, madam, calm down,” Travers urged, gesturing for his minions to do something. They stood to work around towards the speaker.