KILLER IN BLACK a gripping action-packed thriller (Johnny Silver Thriller Book 2)

by PAUL BENNETT

  I got out, stretched my legs and went round to the passenger seat. Red stepped out and I took his place. I chose a cinnamon doughnut and took a bite. Something about America: the only place where you can get a decent doughnut.

  Red made to pull off.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘I need to be serious and I can’t do that while you’re driving – takes all my attention just praying.’

  ‘You gonna lecture me?’ Red said.

  ‘Seems like you may have more responsibilities in the future. Not just for the farm and your workers, but for Cameron, too, if that’s what the gods have in store for you. You need to set a good example from now on.’

  ‘Did I do the right thing?’ he asked. ‘About Cameron?’

  ‘Seems a good kid,’ I said. ‘She could do worse having you as a surrogate father or even just a mentor. You’ve got good principles, know the difference between right and wrong and don’t blur the edges when it suits you. Not qualities you find in every man. Don’t mess this up by doing anything stupid. She’ll look up to you. Don’t let her down.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I promise. You know it’s good to have someone to whom you can belong.’

  ‘To whom?’ I said. ‘Comanches getting good at English grammar.’

  ‘Gonna have to get good at a whole host of things if I’m gonna teach Cameron.’

  ‘Have the right attitude and the rest will come.’

  I finished the doughnut, took a sip of cold coffee, winced, and wiped the sugar away from my mouth. ‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘See what the hotshot lawyers have to say.’

  ‘What do you call fifty lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?’ Red asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘A start,’ he said.

  Crane, Oaks & Crane was situated on the top floor of a modern five-storey building in town. There was a lot of glass at the front so that those workers high enough up the food chain to have an office could look down at the people walking along the street below. Maybe it went some way to compensate for being cooped up behind a desk all day, though I doubted it.

  We walked up the stairs rather than put ourselves at the mercy of the lift – old habits die hard – and came out into a lobby with a receptionist sitting behind a polished-oak desk; maybe the oak was obligatory. Probably a room with a crane in it, too. The receptionist looked up at us as we entered. Didn’t seem impressed. Probably not used to two guys in faded denim jeans and T-shirts. Red had on his favourite cowboy boots; she didn’t seem to change her expression: raised eyebrows over black-rimmed spectacles. She was wearing a white blouse with one button too many undone, presenting us with a view of breasts I reckoned she was pretty proud of. I couldn’t see under the desk, but I guessed at a pencil skirt an inch too short. Only fair. If she was going to make judgements about us from our appearance, then we could do the same.

  ‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ she asked.

  I could see that it caused her discomfort to call us gentlemen. I took the letter out of my pocket and slid it across her desk. ‘We’re here to see Mr Crane,’ I said.

  ‘Which one?’ she asked.

  ‘Whichever one wrote this letter,’ I said. ‘There are some initials at the bottom.’

  She scrutinized the letter. ‘That will be Mr Crane junior,’ she said. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  This was the tricky part. ‘Not exactly,’ I said.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she said frowning. If she’d put us down as troublemakers, she was applauding herself at this point.

  ‘It means that Mr Crane junior will want to see us. Show him the letter and tell him we need to talk the offer through. Might win you a brownie point for showing initiative – always assuming that’s encouraged here.’

  I walked across to two steel-framed chairs and sat down. Nodded at Red who did the same. The receptionist sighed and thought about what to do. Should she follow my lead and leave reception unmanned? Call Mr Crane or his secretary and try to explain the situation while we were listening in? Call Security and have us kicked out? I could hear cogs in her brain whirring.

  ‘Wait here,’ she said, getting up from her desk. I congratulated myself – it was a pencil skirt – black – but slightly higher than I’d thought. It was just about decent and she smoothed it down, subconsciously trying to make it longer. That was one battle she wasn’t going to win.

  She walked through a set of glass doors and we could see her going through an open-plan office to a door at the end of the building. She emerged a couple of minutes later, opened the glass doors and signalled to us to follow. Faces looked up as we walked past, trying to guess what business we had there – needing help to get out of a murder rap, perhaps. She knocked on the door and immediately opened it. She made an economical arm movement for us to enter.

  A man in his forties stood up to greet us. He was wearing a dark-blue suit with a light pinstripe: it signalled conservative, but with a hint of individuality. To go with the suit was a light-blue shirt with a button-down collar and a blue-and-red striped tie. He had on black loafers with a gold buckle. He had us well beat on the sartorial front. But after that there wasn’t much going for him.

  He was maybe thirty pounds overweight, an athlete’s body – football player? – where the muscle had gone to fat. His face had the red tinge of someone who is a habitual drinker. His hair was grey and receding badly. And to top it all was a long, straight nose that was twice the size he needed in order to breathe.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Take a seat. Can I offer you something? Coffee?’

  We gave him our coffee orders and sat down to wait for its arrival. It came in black mugs that wouldn’t show the grounds. It was good, though. Freshly made from a good bean: Arabica, I reckoned.

  ‘We’d like to know some more detail about this offer. Talk us through it please.’

  ‘It’s all quite clear,’ he said. ‘One million dollars for the land and all its buildings. The buyer would like completion within the next fortnight.’ He smiled at us as if he was talking to a pair of idiots.

  ‘What’s the buyer going to do with the land?’ I asked.

  ‘Ranch it, I presume,’ he said.

  ‘You presume?’ I said. ‘Someone comes to you with a deal for a million dollars and all you’re left with is a presumption?’

  ‘I’m not sure that what the buyer wants the land for is relevant,’ he said.

  ‘There’s neighbours involved,’ said Red. ‘Wouldn’t want them inconvenienced or the value of their land to plummet because someone’s going to open a trailer park for drug-takers out on probation.’

  He thought about this for a while. Didn’t seem to come to any conclusion.

  ‘All you need to do is sell. If I were you, I wouldn’t concern myself with neighbours.’

  Red shook his head as if he didn’t like what was going down.

  ‘And who is the buyer?’ I asked.

  ‘The buyer is a recently formed real estate company. Could be they want the land as a sound investment.’

  ‘And the name of this company?’ Red said.

  ‘Blue Valley Developments Inc,’ Mr Crane replied.

  ‘And who owns the company?’ I asked.

  ‘That is none of your business,’ he answered. He didn’t seem to like the way the conversation was going. ‘I’ll prepare the papers and you just sign – it’s as easy as that.’

  ‘If Blue Valley is a bona fide company, then I assume we could look up who runs it from their filed accounts,’ I said. ‘So why don’t you just tell us? Save us the trouble of doing our research.’

  ‘Drop it,’ he said. ‘You’ll save yourself time and trouble.’

  ‘We’re used to both those things,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that right, Red?’

  ‘Reckon so,’ he said and looked Crane in the eye.

  Crane started to look flustered. ‘As I said, drop it. It won’t do you any good. In this state, you’re right, a new company does have to file its accounts, including information
on its shareholders.’

  ‘Well, then, tell us,’ said Red.

  ‘It has to file those accounts within nine months of the end of its financial year. As it’s a recently formed company that means you’ve got about twenty months to wait.’

  He looked smug. He wasn’t going to tell, short of us pulling out our guns and pinning him to the wall with the barrels stabbing his forehead. That would have been Bull’s preference, but we had to tread a bit more lightly here. My bet was that Crane knew the local police, probably on first-name terms. He’d scream if we tried to force the issue and we’d finish up behind bars.

  ‘We don’t seem to be getting very far, Mr Crane,’ I said. ‘I can see your problem about client confidentiality. Why don’t you just put the relevant file on your desk and go out and use the men’s room? You wouldn’t be breaking any rules and you might just persuade us to sell. Client would be pleased then, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave this office or I phone Security.’

  Security wouldn’t thank him for that. Would need to be a lot of them and they’d take a beating.

  ‘Make your choice, gentlemen,’ he said, reaching for the phone.

  I stood up and Red followed my example.

  ‘I won’t shake your hand, Crane,’ I said. ‘Probably got the taint of dirty money on it.’

  I turned on my heel and we walked out, passing the same bewildered faces looking up from their computers. The receptionist heaved a sigh of relief when we walked past her, or maybe she was just trying to give us a final view of her heaving chest.

  ‘Didn’t learn much,’ said Red.

  ‘On the contrary,’ I said. ‘We know that whoever is behind Blue Valley wants to keep it a secret. Got to be up to something. All we need to do is figure out what.’

  We reached the jeep. ‘You drive,’ I said. ‘I’ve got some thinking to do, and I do that best with my eyes closed.’

  We got back in time for lunch. Pieter was on watch on the hills and Stan and Bull were dusty and caked with sweat from wheelbarrow duty. Ho, ably assisted by what seemed to be a doting Stan, brought in two large plates of sandwiches, two jars of dill pickles, some beers and bottled water. She anxiously asked if two jars of pickles would be enough: Stan smiled proudly.

  It was while I was eating that the idea came to me.

  ‘It’s time we had a little excursion,’ I said to Bull and Red. ‘I think we might mosey out and see our favourite senator. It’s time you two got acquainted properly.’

  ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with getting out of wheelbarrow duty, would it?’ said Red.

  ‘Perish the thought,’ I said. ‘We need information and I’ve got a hunch the senator might provide us with some.’

  ‘Won’t it kinda rile him up, seeing Bull? said Red.

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping.’

  Bull and I showered and changed into some clean clothes.

  ‘Must make a good impression,’ I said to Bull.

  ‘How are we going to play this?’ he asked. ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘As Red said, we’re going to rile him up.’

  ‘It’s what we do best,’ he said. ‘Why change the habit of a lifetime?’

  ‘So remind me of your grand plan,’ said Red.

  We were sitting in the jeep outside the main gates to the senator’s ranch.

  ‘We’re going to get him angry,’ I said.

  ‘That’s easy for you,’ Bull said. ‘You have a natural talent for that. But what about me? What role do I play?’

  ‘You’re going to be the catalyst.’

  ‘Does the catalyst get to shoot anybody?’

  ‘Not this time. Maybe on another occasion.’

  ‘How about punching anybody?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You’re not playing to my talents,’ Bull said, shaking his head.

  ‘Just being there is going to be enough. Trust me.’

  ‘Then I’ll be there real good.’

  We cruised up the driveway and parked outside the house. It was quiet. We got out and looked around. Not much action. Yet. I rang the doorbell and waited for Jackson. Bull stood beside me, humming a tune I didn’t recognize. Something told me he was going to enjoy this.

  The door opened and Jackson looked up at us. He frowned at Bull.

  ‘We’ve come to see the senator,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll see if he is at home,’ Jackson said.

  He turned his back and started to walk along the hall. We followed one step behind.

  ‘You can’t do that, sirs,’ he said in panic. ‘You must wait at the door. That’s how it works.’

  ‘If we do that the senator won’t be at home. You know that, Jackson. He might deign to see me, Red at a push even, but Bull here doesn’t stand a chance.’ I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll see you don’t get into trouble. Now lead on.’

  He sighed and continued to walk towards the back of the house. He stopped at the last door on the left and knocked. We turned the handle and went inside before O’Hara could answer.

  This was obviously his study. He was sitting on a large brown leather swivel-chair at an antique partners’ desk with an inlaid green leather top. The size of the desk meant that it dominated the room. Along one wall were bookshelves lined with leather-bound tomes that I bet had never been opened – might even be fake for all I knew. There was a portrait of the senator on the wall facing the desk, so that O’Hara could look up from the desk and bask in the radiant smile the painter had somehow managed to create on his lips. O’Hara looked up and started to go purple with rage. Jackson stood nervously by the door.

  ‘Before you explode,’ I said, ‘don’t blame Jackson. We barged our way in.’

  ‘How dare you,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t bad enough you coming,’ he pointed at Bull, ‘but to bring that man …’

  ‘That man has a name. I’m called Bull. Remember that the next time you speak to me.’

  ‘Get Slim,’ O’Hara said to Jackson.

  Jackson looked at me questioningly.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  Bull moved back to the wall to the right of the door. Leaned back casually with his arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘What do you want?’ O’Hara said. He sounded more confident now that Jackson had left to get Slim. All he needed to do, so he would think, was keep us talking till the cavalry arrived.

  ‘Respect,’ I said. ‘Respect for Bull here, for Red, for Jerome at the hotel, for Jackson. For anyone who is not a white Anglo Saxon protestant.’

  O’Hara laughed.

  The door opened and Slim walked in. Bull had his gun out and pressed against the back of Slim’s head before he knew what was happening. The confident look on O’Hara’s face evaporated.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ Bull said to Slim. ‘I have very itchy fingers.’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ O’Hara said incredulously. ‘You can’t just walk in here and pull a gun.’

  ‘Two guns,’ I said, taking mine from the back of the waistband of my jeans.

  ‘Make that three,’ Red said.

  I moved closer to O’Hara and looked down at him.

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Listen well. My friends and I think you’re some kind of dinosaur living in a world beyond its time. We think you’re the biggest bigot we’ve ever seen. And we’re going to tell the world about it. How do you think that is going to help your campaign for the presidency?’

  ‘You say one word and I’ll sue you for every penny you have.’

  ‘And how are you going to do that?’ Bull said.

  ‘My lawyers will find a way.’

  ‘And who might they be?’ I said.

  ‘The best in the state – Crane, Oaks and Crane.’

  I put the gun back in my waistband and turned to Bull. I nodded at him and he lowered his gun.

  ‘Thanks, Senator,’ I said as we walked out. ‘That’s all I need to know.’

  ‘Well,
zip-a-dee-doo-dah,’ added Bull.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was hard, punishing work. Constantly bending down to push the wheelbarrows meant that our backs felt it the most, closely followed by our biceps from the lifting of the handles. I’m sure we all felt fitter as the days went by. One of the happier consequences was seeing Pieter regain his shape. He’d lost a lot of weight and his stomach was flat again; across his body, excess fat was turning back to muscle. He seemed to grow mentally as well, pride in his appearance returning; he felt, I was sure, that he could hold his own amongst us now.

  However, what wasn’t so good was that it was all taking far too long. If it hadn’t been for the raid on the bikers’ camp, we wouldn’t have stood a chance of finishing it before they attacked. Defenceless, no matter how confident we purported to be, they would have swarmed all over us. The raid had bought us valuable time and we were using it well.

  Stan and I dumped our loads from the wheelbarrows and stood up to stretch our backs.

  ‘Let’s take a breather,’ I said, picking up two bottles of water and passing one to him. ‘Tell me about your hotel.’

  ‘It’s a fine place,’ he said, his chest swelling with pride. ‘Right size, too. Just fifteen bedrooms; any more and the service wouldn’t be as personal, any less and it would hard to make a profit. Restaurant seats forty, although we need to boost the numbers to fill it.’

  ‘Reputations take a while to build,’ I said.

  ‘And an instant to lose.’ He wiped the sweat off his body with the T-shirt that he had taken off at the start of the morning’s shift. ‘Still, I know what you mean. Been going less than a couple of months. Can’t expect miracles.’

  ‘But I bet you ask for them from your staff.’

  ‘Always give of your best,’ he said. ‘No other way in life. Not if you want to hold your head high.’

  ‘You said it was by a lake,’ I said. ‘Why go for that rather than the sea? Poland does have a coast, doesn’t it?’

  ‘The coast is too far north – weather’s too cold for much of the year, too seasonal. Lake’s much warmer. Did you know Poland has the highest number of lakes of any country in the world?’