by Tom Fowler
“What do you mean?”
Tyler gripped the barrel of the Colt and shook the weapon. “If you say no, I’ll beat you to death in your own dining room.”
“But you’ll—”
“Please. With as many crooks and ex-cons as you know, the cops will have a Rolodex of people to sift through before they ever get to me. Besides, do you think anyone saw me come here tonight?”
“Fine,” George said through clenched teeth. “I’ll take your damn blood money.”
“Good decision.” Tyler tossed the gun into the far corner of the room. “Remember—I’ll be checking on you in thirty days.” He walked toward the front door.
“What about my bullets?” George asked.
“You have thirty thousand dollars,” Tyler said. “Buy more.”
41
Tyler was drinking his second cup of coffee the next morning when his phone rang. The display showed a Maryland number he didn’t recognize, but he answered it anyway. “This is Deputy Parker from Harford County,” a semi-familiar voice said.
“Good morning, Deputy. What can I do for you?”
“I remember you came to me about Alice Simard. We’ve been investigating. Looks like a lot of the people we wanted to arrest are dead. Do you know what happened to Rodolfo and Héctor Espinoza?”
“I have no idea,” Tyler said.
“Someone killed them,” Parker said. “Looks like a bomb went off in the basement, plus the usual gunfire. A lot of dead men in the house.”
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but Héctor was a drug dealer. It’s a fairly hazardous line of work from what I hear.”
“It is.” Parker paused. “We also uncovered some other evidence, and we’ve arrested a man named Todd Windholm.”
“Don’t know him,” Tyler said.
“Of course you don’t. Look, you brought this to my attention, and I recall you telling me you’re resourceful.”
Tyler took a large sip of coffee. “Where are you going with this, Deputy?”
“Do you have an alibi for two nights ago?” Parker asked.
“Sure,” Tyler said. “I was home. My daughter can confirm. She stays up later than I do.”
Sounds of a pen scratching over paper came through the connection. “All right. Good to know. I think I have everything I needed. Enjoy your day, Mister Tyler.”
Tyler hung up. Someone was bound to discover the Espinoza house eventually. Probably Windholm or a service provider like a maid. The latter seemed more likely. Héctor treated Windholm like a lackey rather than a partner. He wouldn’t give the man a key to his house. With the money man arrested, the cartel’s presence in Maryland was officially over. Considering the distance from Mexico, the trouble they went through with Héctor, and the constant battles back home, Tyler didn’t think they’d try again.
He chalked it up as a win for everyone.
Tyler met Sara at her house after her day at work. They planned to go to dinner at Clyde’s, but a happy reunion kiss turned into quite a bit more. Sara ordered Chinese for delivery and then pounced on Tyler for another round. They both ignored the doorbell when it rang. Later, Sara threw on a T-shirt, and Tyler walked downstairs in his shirt and boxers. He collected the bag from outside, and after a quick reheat, they ate dinner at Sara’s table.
“You haven’t talked much about the cartel,” she said after finishing her soup.
“I figured you didn’t need too many tales of me being a knight-errant.” Tyler unwrapped a bag of egg rolls and plopped one on each of their plates. “Thanks for sending Aguilar my way. We couldn’t have done it without him.”
“I guess you got your revenge, then.”
“Someone had to.” Tyler shrugged. “The state and the world are better off for Héctor and his men being dead. I have no regrets.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Sara ripped open a packet of sauce and added it to her small plate. She picked up her egg roll, put it back down, and sighed. “I like you, Tyler. We’re both old enough not to play games. I appreciate the code you live by, but I wish you wouldn’t put yourself in danger for people you barely know.” She held up a hand when he started to talk. “Yes, I realize you did the same for me, and I’ll obviously be grateful forever. But I’m forty-six. I need some stability.”
Tyler bobbed his head. He understood. He needed the same thing. Sara was a dependable professional woman. By contrast, he was an out-of-work mechanic who recently flew to Texas to kill members of a drug cartel. “I’m working on it. Smitty’s shop was a casualty of Héctor’s war. We’re hoping his insurance comes through and lets him rebuild.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“I have an idea if the worst happens,” Tyler said.
“I’ve thought a lot about this.” Sara finally took a bite of her egg roll.
While she chewed, Tyler upended the rice container to put a pile on his plate. “If you want to break things off, I get it. I’m not exactly the picture of stability right now.” He added several chunks of sesame chicken to it. The sweet and tangy smell of the sauce filled his nostrils. “Hell, I might never be.”
Sara smiled. “Would I have spent the last two and a half hours ravaging you if I wanted to kick you to the curb?”
“It’d be a damn fine send-off,” Tyler offered.
“It would,” she said. “I admit I thought about it around the beginning of this whole mess. Especially when you asked me to find you someone to help. It was like you were crossing a line from personal to professional, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I probably still don’t. It’s good to have some separation.” She spread her hands. “In the end, I realized you did something good in your own way. It’s who you are . . . and I’m the last person who shouldn’t appreciate how you do things.”
“As my daughter might say . . . those are certainly some words.”
“Go to hell,” Sara said with a small laugh. “I appreciate you for who you are, Tyler. Even if you’re not the most stable person in the world. I know you’re dependable even if it’s not the same way everyone else is.”
Tyler winked. “You’re lucky to have so unique a boyfriend.”
“You’re pretty lucky, too, you know.”
“I do,” he said. “I’m glad you’ll be keeping me around.”
Sara helped herself to some rice and beef with broccoli. “Just don’t go flying off to Texas again anytime soon.”
“Deal,” Tyler said.
Tyler took some Chinese food home for Lexi. She filled her plate with all the leftovers and ate at the table before disappearing upstairs to do homework. A short while later, someone knocked on the door. Tyler didn’t expect anyone, so he carried his M11 with him. A look through the peephole showed Smitty standing on the stoop with a paper bag in his hands. Tyler stuffed the Sig into his waistband and opened up.
“Expecting someone else?” Smitty said, glancing at the gun.
“Considering who I’ve tangled with recently, you never know.”
Smitty walked into the kitchen, put the bag into the fridge, and took two longnecks from it. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
“Got time to chat?”
“You see anyone else beating down my door?” Tyler asked.
Smitty jutted his chin toward the back of the house. “It’s a nice evening. Got a place to sit outside?”
A moment later, they sat in outdoor chairs on Tyler’s patio. Like most people in Baltimore, his house didn’t feature a big yard. The vagaries of property lines meant it was fairly deep but not wide. The patio, grill, and furnishings took up about a fifth of it. Smitty enjoyed a long pull of his beer. “Did I tell you I dialed back my insurance a while ago?”
“Yeah.” Tyler dreaded where the conversation was going.
“They’re screwing me,” Smitty said. “Bastards. Something about accidental fires being covered but not arson.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Tyler said.
“Of course it is.” Smitty snorted.
“Oh, well. It was just a shop.”
Tyler shook his head. “No. It was your shop. It was your dream, and I was happy to get to share in it.”
“I won’t be needing your money,” Smitty said. “Look in the bag. Most of it’s back in there.”
“Most of it?”
“You’ve seen my house.” Smitty smirked. “It could stand a few updates.”
“I’ve been thinking.” Tyler drank some beer and swirled it around in the glass.
“No good can come from it,” Smitty said.
“You’re probably right. What if I take the money in the bag and open my own shop?”
“Good for you, then.”
“Let me finish,” Tyler said. “I was thinking of opening my own place and asking you to run it.”
Smitty frowned. “Me?”
“Sure. You’re much better at dealing with people than I am.” Tyler clinked Smitty’s beer bottle. “And you’re a half-decent mechanic to boot.”
“Where would this shop be?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Tyler said. “I just started thinking about it. I was in the army . . . it takes us a while to figure things out.”
“All right,” Smitty said. He drained the rest of his lager. “You let me know when you’ve got a line on something. I still own the place on Belair Road. Moving some of the equipment might suck, but I’d be happy to provide it.”
Tyler nodded. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Smitty left a few minutes later, right after Lexi rejoined Tyler on the first floor. “Your boss seems happy all things considered,” she said once he drove away.
“He’s not my boss anymore. I might end up being his.”
“What’s going on, Dad?”
Tyler explained his nascent plan to look for a place to open a classic car repair shop. Between the cash in his fridge and money he’d squirreled away, he should be able to find a decent building. He had no idea how long the process would take. Buying this house several years ago proved to be enough of a chore. He suspected opening a business would be even worse. “I like the idea of being my own boss,” he said. “Working for Smitty was good, but at the end of the day, I’ve spent a long time taking orders from people. I don’t need to do it anymore.”
“Good thinking.” She smiled. “I’m proud of you.”
“You’re stealing my lines.”
“Can I have a job over the summer?” Lexi asked.
“Maybe,” Tyler said. “I’ll put in a good word with the manager.”
* * *
END of Novel #2
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Hi there,
I hope you enjoyed White Lines. This isn’t the end of Tyler’s adventures, though. What’s supposed to be a favor to a friend leads to our hero taking on a band of international traffickers in Lost Highway. You can order it now at https://books2read.com/losthighway.
* * *
THE END
Afterword
Thanks for checking out this novel! I hope you enjoyed reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
* * *
I write mysteries and thrillers with snark and flawed heroes. If this sounds like something you like, you can check out my catalog below.
* * *
The John Tyler Thrillers
The Mechanic
White Lines
Lost Highway (October 2021)
* * *
The C.T. Ferguson Crime Novels:
The Reluctant Detective
The Unknown Devil
The Workers of Iniquity
Already Guilty
Daughters and Sons
A March from Innocence
Inside Cut
The Next Girl
In the Blood
Right as Rain
Dead Cat Bounce (December 2021)
While these are the suggested reading sequences, each novel is a standalone thriller or mystery, and the books can be enjoyed in whatever order you happen upon them.
* * *
Connect with me:
For the many ways of finding and reaching me online, please visit https://tomfowlerwrites.com/contact. I’m always happy to talk to readers.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Characters and places are either fictitious or used in a fictitious manner.
* * *
“Self-publishing” is something of a misnomer. This book would not have been possible without the contributions of many people.
The great cover design team at 100 Covers.
My editor extraordinaire, Chase Nottingham.
My wonderful advance reader team, the Fell Street Irregulars.
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About the Author
Tom Fowler was born and raised in Baltimore and still resides in Maryland. He is an unabashed homer for Baltimore sports teams. His full-time job is in the field of computer security. Even from a young age, Tom wanted to write. He was about seven or eight, so the stories were brief and awful. Among them was a "murder mystery" in which young Tom, a polite lad, referred to everyone as "Mr. Patrick" or "Miss Jane." The most interesting thing about the alleged murder mystery was that no one died (and, in fact, everyone recovered quite nicely in the hospital). In the intervening years, Tom has gotten over this problem with killing characters in his stories. When not working or writing, Tom enjoys spending time with his family and friends, reading, sports, movies, and writing brief bios in the third person.
Read more at Tom Fowler’s site.