THE THOUSAND DOLLAR MAN: Introducing Colt Ryder - One Man, One Mission, No Rules

by J. T. Brannan

  I didn’t carry a gun, but I wasn’t going in unarmed; I had a folding knife in my right pants pocket, and a lightweight expandable metal baton in my left. It might not save me if there was a gang waiting for me, but I’d managed to do more with less in the past.

  But as it happened, the place was safe; just a woman’s apartment, with no hint that there was anything else going on except someone who wanted my help.

  Happy, I left Gabriela Torres’ home the way I’d found it and left to wait for her return.

  Chapter Two

  She arrived home from work a couple of hours later – again, I was pleased to see, with nobody following her – and I went up to her apartment once more, this time from the front.

  After a brief moment of anger stemming from me missing our earlier meeting, she agreed to let me in, and I soon found myself sitting on an old sofa in her living room sipping a cup of strong coffee, marveling at how she was even better looking up close.

  So you’re the thousand dollar man, she’d said just moments before, and I realized that I’d not yet answered, mesmerized instead by her dark, sultry beauty; I checked myself and quickly snapped out of it. Business was business after all, and it paid to pay attention.

  ‘That’s what people call me,’ I said.

  ‘What’s your real name?’ she asked, her voice low and smooth; I felt it touch me almost as if she was running a hand up my leg.

  ‘I barely remember,’ I said. ‘But I’m here to listen to your story. You need me, so what do you want me to do?’

  She looked a little hurt, as if aggrieved that I’d managed to survive her seductive charms, but she recovered quickly. ‘A thousand dollars?’ she asked.

  I nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why a thousand?’

  ‘It has a special meaning for me.’ It was true, but there was no reason to explain it all to her.

  ‘I thought you were a good guy,’ she breathed, edging closer. ‘Why charge at all?’

  ‘If I did it for free, the jobs would never stop,’ I said. ‘If it was free, everyone would want me to do everything. The thousand dollars is to sort out people who are serious.’

  ‘A thousand dollars isn’t much to a millionaire.’

  ‘I don’t do a lot of work for millionaires.’

  She smiled at me, and I felt my heart skip a beat. How old was I? Get a grip, I told myself.

  ‘Is it true you won the Medal of Honor?’ she asked.

  It was true, and I wondered how she knew; it wasn’t in the newspaper article. Probably someone, somewhere, had just made it up, and it had spread like any rumor. This one just happened to be true.

  I decided to ignore the question altogether; I didn’t like talking about dead friends.

  ‘So what’s the job?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ she purred, running a fingertip down the arm of her chair, ‘it’s like this. I’m into ladies, okay? And my girlfriend – my soul partner, the one I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with – she’s married, okay? Married to a real loser, but she doesn’t see it, she’s too scared, and I’m scared she’ll never tell him, she’ll never be free to love me properly. You know?’

  I nodded, although in fairness I didn’t know.

  ‘So what do you want from me?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you just tell the husband?’

  She laughed at that, then shook her head sadly. ‘Then I’ll look like the bad guy, yeah? Chrissie wouldn’t ever forgive me, and then what would be the point? And her husband’s a real piece of work, he’d do a number upside her head, you know? She’d get hurt, and no good would even come of it.’

  My teeth gritted subconsciously at the thought of the girlfriend’s husband beating her; some people think of me as a violent man – and perhaps they’re right – but men hitting women and children is one thing I can’t stand. It offends me beyond reason.

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ I asked. ‘You want me to tell him?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘I want you to kill him.’

  And there it was; the task I’m often asked to perform. At a thousand dollars, not a bad little investment for some people. The only trouble is, I’m no assassin. I help people, I don’t kill them.

  ‘You’ve got the wrong man,’ I said, standing up to leave. ‘I’m not a hit man.’

  I started for the living room door and she stood too, put a gentle hand on my arm, encouraging me to stay.

  ‘But I’ve heard . . . I mean, that article in the paper . . . what people say . . . you have killed people.’

  I turned to her, my six foot frame towering above her petite figure. ‘Sometimes when I help people,’ I admitted, ‘other people die.’

  That much was true, unfortunately; the sort of men I came across often didn’t want their lives to be interfered with, and tried to put me out of business permanently. I tended to respond in the same manner, and – so far – had always come out on top, leaving a body count to reflect it. But that wasn’t the point.

  ‘So you do kill people,’ Gabriela said, squeezing my arm.

  ‘Only if they get in my way,’ I explained. ‘That’s never the job, though.’

  She nodded. ‘I guess that helps you sleep at night, huh?’

  She’d meant to be sarcastic, but it was true. It did. ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘It helps me sleep like a baby. You’ve got to have principles, and then you’ve got to stand by them, or what are you worth?’

  She nodded her head finally, in understanding. ‘Nothing, I guess,’ she said sadly; and then her fingers were opening, stroking up my forearm, her dark eyes staring up into mine. ‘But if you don’t want to do the job,’ she purred, ‘maybe you can help me with something else.’

  Her touch was going higher, her fingers tracing up to my neck, then down to my chest. I kept looking into those doe-like eyes. ‘What did you have in mind?’ I asked her.

  ‘Maybe you could help me get my own back a little,’ she whispered, as her hand crept even lower. ‘Maybe make Chrissy jealous a little bit, make her see how it feels. If she has a man, maybe so can I . . . If only for one night.’

  Her hand reached my belt, and for a moment I considered rejecting her advances; but only for a moment. I’d turned down her offer of a job after all and this, as I saw it, would be the least I could do for her.

  As she led me into the bedroom by my belt, I thought that you could maybe call it another one of my principles, helping a damsel in distress.

  And you have to stand by your principles, or what are you worth?

  Chapter Three

  I woke up early the next morning, my body stiff and uncomfortable; Gabriela had given me one hell of a workout the night before, and I was suffering for it now. That being said though, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Whoever Chrissie was, she was a lucky woman, I could definitely vouch for that.

  I left Gabriela sleeping in bed, got dressed and slipped out quietly from her apartment. I wasn’t one for long goodbyes, and I didn’t want to hear any more talk about killing her girlfriend’s husband. It wasn’t the sort of work I did, and I didn’t want to make any more excuses.

  I picked up Kane as I went; Gabriela had agreed for him to come up and sleep in the apartment, much to my relief. If he’d had to wait outside, I just knew he’d never forgive me in the morning. It would be the look in his eyes, there’d be no avoiding it. But as it was, he was happy and playful after a good night’s rest on the sofa and ready for another day’s long walk.

  We trotted down the apartment steps to Salinas and took in the view, the early morning streets empty and deserted, only the odd car disturbing the peace. The sun was already rising steadily over the rooftops though, and the heat was building. I knew it wouldn’t be long before the denizens of the neighborhood appeared, to make their way to school, to work, or just to wander the streets on the lookout for a new way to make money, legal or illegal; it was just that sort of area, and I knew them well. I’d lived in plenty of them myself.

  I’d d
ecided to wander back to the train station today, pick up my backpack and move on out; I’d checked the classifieds already, and there was nothing else keeping me there. Unless I passed another poster on the way to the station, of course; then I might just stick around and see what I could do.

  I was going to keep my options open about how I’d leave Laredo; Zapata was fifty miles south, Carrizo Springs was eighty miles north, and Alice was ninety-five miles east, with not a hell of a lot in between. It would be easier to get the train or a bus – but on reflection, I decided that Kane didn’t much like public transport. And to be fair, I wasn’t a big fan either. After so long alone, I’m not keen on being so close to so many people I don’t know. Combat fatigue perhaps; or maybe I’m just plain antisocial. But either way, I’d made my mind up by the time I was halfway along Salinas – I’d walk to the next town.

  It might take me a few days, but what the hell – the weather was beautiful and I’d sleep out under the stars. When I reached Alice I’d get a hotel room and a long shower, rest up a couple of days – depending on the classifieds, of course – and then move on east to Corpus Christie, check out the beaches on the Gulf of Mexico coastline. Have a vacation maybe.

  Kane’s body tensed next to me only fractions of a second before I reacted myself, hairs on end.

  We were being followed.

  Kane turned his head and let out a long, low growl and my hand went to the folding knife in my pocket, withdrawing it unseen and hiding it in my palm as I turned.

  The man was an aging Hispanic, pants barely containing a large gut, hair thinning on top but making up for it with a thick mustache below. Unlike me, he looked like he belonged here. He was still across the street, well away from us; but Kane and I had both felt it, his eyes on us, his attention crossing the empty street like a laser beam. He tried to hide it as I glanced casually his way, but I knew he’d been watching me. But why?

  I carried on down the street, Kane responding to my relaxation and also turning away from the man, close to my heel. I monitored the guy though, watched him watching me, using the reflections of car windshields and storefront windows. He continued to follow us steadily, hiding behind parked cars and lampposts like something out of a sixties spy movie. I might have laughed if I wasn’t so busy wondering what it meant.

  The street was widening out in front of me as I headed north, and already the people were starting to come out; traffic was increasing, a few cyclists, early morning dog walkers like me. A big municipal building was up ahead on my right, a small square of park to my left; it was nothing exciting, just a bit of grass and a few trees, but it gave me an idea.

  I checked the position of my pursuer one last time – he was waiting to cross an intersection after me, still feigning disinterest – and then turned abruptly from the sidewalk into the park, disappearing into the shadows.

  I rounded a tree – in the same comedy sixties spy style as the man behind me – and then quickly lifted myself into the branches above, my actions hidden from view. I left Kane sniffing the wide trunk beneath me as I waited for the man to appear, as I knew he inevitably would.

  I didn’t have to wait long; less than a minute later he was nervously edging round the bole of the tree, face anxious, then horrified as he saw Kane waiting there for him, hackles raised and poised to attack. The man didn’t know that my dog would only do so at my command, and the fear reaction caused him to freeze there below me, absolutely immobile.

  I used the opportunity to act, dropping down from the branches and forcing the man back against the trunk, my razor-sharp three-inch blade at his throat. Kane left me to it, turning to guard the perimeter.

  ‘Who are you?’ I whispered, aware that there were now people out on the streets who might eventually see what was going on. ‘Why are you following me?’

  Panic spread across the man’s lined, weather-beaten face, and I wasn’t sure if he’d pissed in his pants. This was no mafia killer sent to track me down and get revenge, that was for sure. Whoever he was, he was way out of his league.

  He didn’t respond and I repeated the question in Spanish, just in case he hadn’t understood.

  His own language seemed to relax him, and I saw a little of the fear leave his eyes. There was another slight pause, and then he spoke in his own throaty whisper. ‘I . . . speak English,’ he gasped, ‘and I wish you no harm, you must believe me, please.’

  I eased the pressure from his throat slightly, and I sensed him relax more. A growl from Kane alerted me to a passerby, and I moved the knife from his throat to a more concealed location at his ribs, moving away slightly so it looked like we might just be chilling out in the park, shooting the shit about last night’s game, or how the kids were getting on at school.

  ‘Okay,’ I said pleasantly, monitoring the young couple who strolled past us arm in arm, glad when they’d passed us by. ‘Now tell me who you are.’

  ‘My name is Emilio Rosales, I live next door to Gabriela Torres,’ he said rapidly, ‘and you are the thousand dollar man, no?’ I didn’t reply, still wondering what this was all about, and he breathed harder, nervous but wanting to plunge on. ‘Yes,’ he continued with half a smile, ‘I know it is you, it must be you. I’ve waited for so long, and here you are.’ His eyes opened wider. ‘I need your help. Please. I need your help.’

  ‘What sort of help?’ I asked, releasing the knife from Emilio’s ribs ever so slightly.

  ‘My daughter has gone missing,’ he said. ‘I need you to help find her.’

  I sighed, and pocketed the knife.

  Alice and Corpus Christie were just going to have to wait a few days more.

  Chapter Four

  I was back in the same four-level apartment block that I’d spent the night in, barely twenty minutes after I’d left.

  Emilio hadn’t been lying; he did indeed live next door to Gabriela Torres, and had probably had his beauty sleep disturbed by his neighbor’s screams the previous night. Maybe by mine, too. But – gentleman that he was – he made no mention of it, and nor did his wife, Camila, who served us black coffee in complete silence. I couldn’t be sure if she didn’t speak English, or just didn’t approve of my being there. She’d offered me something stronger, but it was still too early in the day, even for me.

  It turned out that they knew Gabriela well, knew all about her problems, knew also that she wanted to hire me. They saw the notice was missing from the grocery store window, noticed me knocking on her apartment door, and put two and two together. So much for my security, I thought mirthlessly.

  It also turned out that Emilio and his wife had long since been after my services too, but were too scared to advertise; and I was about to find out why.

  I sipped on the strong coffee and watched as Kane lolled about on the rug in front of us, happy to be living a life of luxury two days in a row; and then Emilio placed his own cup down on the cluttered table in front of us, ready to get down to business.

  ‘You are free for a job?’ Emilio asked, eyebrows raised. ‘You already busy for Gabriela?’

  I shook my head. ‘There was a conflict of interest,’ I said. ‘I’m free, depending on what you need.’

  The look of relief in his eyes was obvious. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you. We were going to put up our own advert, you know, but then Gabriela told us she’d put hers up and, you know . . .’

  I waved his explanations away. ‘There aren’t any rules for this sort of thing,’ I assured him. ‘You needed me, now you’ve got me. So tell me what it is you want me to do. You said your daughter is missing.’

  Emilio nodded, tears starting to well up in his eyes; his wife came in from the kitchen, hands going to his, clasping them to her lap. She remained silent, letting her husband do the talking.

  ‘She was such a good girl,’ he started, ‘so happy, so ambitious, you know? And around here,’ he said, gesturing around the apartment, outside to the surrounding neighborhood, ‘that’s pretty special, right? So many kids here are into drugs, guns
, gangs, you name it man, they’re doing it. End up a mess, one way or another. But not our girl, man, no way, no way. Little Elena was good all the way through and through.’

  I listened to the father’s story, as I had many times before; the details were different, but the message was the same. Their girl or boy was good, a perfect straight-A student, loved by all; then something happened, they got in with the wrong crowd, went off the rails, did something wrong, got into trouble, or sometimes simply went missing, never to be seen again. And when you start digging, it always turned out that little Trixie or Freddie weren’t really the sweet angels their parents painted them to be. Whenever I had a case like that, more often than not I didn’t tell the parents exactly what I’d found; most of them were dead, and that was enough heart-ache for any mother or father without destroying the image they had of their child as well. Let them live on in the memory as saints, if that made things easier.

  ‘Anyway,’ Emilio continued, wiping away a tear, ‘she . . . I don’t know, I guess she might have finally fallen in with a bad crowd, I don’t know, something like this, okay? Wait, let me back it up a little, I . . . This is Laredo, right? Laredo, Texas. Now, across the river we’ve got a whole other story. Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. Just a river and a couple of bridges, that’s what separates us. A river and a couple of bridges. And the bridges ain’t too damn far from here, okay? It’s a lot of temptation for a young girl. And we’ve got some family there, we can get over the border each way, no problems. Now life here ain’t exactly Martha’s Vineyard, but it ain’t too bad, lots of folks here are honest, we work hard, you know? But over the river, it’s wild – I mean, that’s what the kids hear, and that’s what they wanna go and find out. Is it like people say? Is it really one long party there?’

  ‘Is that what people say?’ I asked, and Emilio nodded his head.