BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  His bark cut through the air, the smell of booze undeniable. If I could have lit a match, the entire alley would have been a ball of fire.

  “Sebasten, do you want to watch your daddies cry? I will make them cry, I promise you. And then you will sob as you watch blood pour from their souls. I will drink it, and it will give me energy and power!”

  His booming voice caught the wave of a stiff breeze, and it seemed to carry forever. But there was no counter-sound, no response to his maniacal rant. It felt like we were on an uninhabited island, not in a city of more than a million people.

  “Leave them alone. They are my friends. I’m the one you want to hurt.” Bolt arched his back, defiance digging stress lines on his face.

  I felt like strangling Bolt myself. Dammit, this wasn’t the time to bring out the bold, rebellious attitude.

  Julio just started laughing and popped each of his buddies on the arm, who followed their fearless leader into an outright laugh fest. They laughed so hard their bodies shook. The thug in front of me couldn’t stop quivering, and his rifle tapped the bottom of my chin, almost like it was sending off Morse code. The chin music I didn’t care much about. My sights zeroed in on his trigger finger, which ignited my pulse. If he jerked the rifle too quickly, I would never know, unless the bullet somehow would just graze my throat. Then I’d likely drown in my own blood—similar to what Sean experienced in Afghanistan.

  “Why do you laugh at me?” Bolt continued.

  It took everything I had not to put my hand over his face.

  “Because…because, you silly little boy.” Julio’s snickering almost made him topple over as he wiped tears from his eyes. I didn’t see the humor, only pathetic bullies who’d been brainwashed to the point where they wouldn’t hesitate in torturing or killing all of us.

  Julio steadied himself and gripped Bolt’s shoulder. “Back at the camp, you thought you were playing me, asking me all sorts of questions. But I knew what you were doing all along.”

  He leaned down, his face barely an inch from Bolt’s. “You think you are so smart. But it is I, Julio, who has the brilliant mind.”

  Suddenly, Julio rammed his head into Bolt’s, who fell against the wall.

  “Bolt!” I shouted.

  He righted himself, brought a hand to his forehead. Blood squeezed between his fingers. His chest lifted in quick gasps, his unwavering stature washed away. I wondered if he might start crying, like a normal fourteen-year-old boy.

  “You’re from here, I’m surprised you don’t know,” Julio spat.

  “What?” Bolt said meekly.

  “You cannot fuck with Julio. You cannot fuck with the Amador cartel.”

  The little general started laughing again, spit flying out of his mouth.

  Shifting my eyes right, I could see Sean, his arms hanging by his side, but slightly bent at the elbow. While his face almost looked catatonic, I could sense he was preparing to launch a surprise attack. But I had no idea when or how I needed to respond. I knew he probably had experience in life-threatening situations just like this—I’d been in similar scraps—but we weren’t partners. We didn’t know squat about each other’s signals, let alone each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

  “Before we begin torturing you and your friends,” Julio covered his mouth for a moment, “we need to know a few things. Or should we start by making an example of the old man here?”

  Julio gritted his teeth, jabbing his rifle into Sean’s ribs. For a second, I thought he was going to pull the trigger.

  “No, stop!” Bolt yelled, reaching for the gun.

  “Don’t,” I said, grabbing Bolt’s arm.

  It was too late. Julio backhanded Bolt across the jaw, flipping his head back to me. A mixture of blood and spit flew across my face. Bolt dropped to a knee, but used a hand to keep his balance.

  “Hijo de puta.” Bolt cursed under his breath, his growl now filled more with anger, not fear.

  I rested my hand on the top of his neck.

  “You think you can protect this little shit?”

  Julio scooted across the rocky pavement, bumping up against his partner, who still had his rifle tucked under my chin. “Your little friend is nothing more than a traitor to the people of the Dominican Republic. An embarrassment. Maybe his parents knew that, and that’s why they left him.”

  Bolt sprung out of his stance, flailing his fists. I grabbed the collar of his shirt just as my personal thug rammed the butt of his rifle into the exact same spot on my rib cage.

  Falling back against the wall, not an ounce of air left in my lungs, I managed to keep my grip of Bolt’s shirt, yanking him back just in time. A Julio roundhouse right whiffed just an inch in front of Bolt’s face.

  “Ahh!” Julio yelled in disgust as he started pounding his foot into Bolt’s head.

  I threw my body on top of Bolt and quickly felt five, six, seven kicks and punches.

  “Stop, please stop!”

  Sean.

  “We’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but you have to promise us that you’ll let the kid go.”

  The beating ended, and all attention turned to Julio bowing up against Sean.

  “The old man speaks. I thought you were a mute.”

  Julio got so close I figured he’d be able to see Sean’s fake eyebrows and mustache, and his wig.

  “I…I am not well. I’ve been sick, and it’s left me weak,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest.

  I could see where he was going, and it gave me hope. I moved to one knee and noticed the guns had dropped to their sides. Julio even took a step back from Sean.

  “What do you have, old man? Is it contagious? Did you just spread your filthy germs on us?”

  “I was bitten by an assassin bug six months ago in the Amazon in Brazil.” Suddenly, his body threw out one of his gurgling, wet coughs. The armed bandits took another step back, instantly using their arms to cover their mouths.

  Two of them started ranting and cussing in ultra-quick Spanish.

  “Cállate. Voy a decidir qué hacer.” Julio said to his partners.

  I only knew he told them to shut up.

  “I have Chagas disease. It’s parasitic. And since I can’t afford insurance or any of the special medications, doctors say I don’t have much longer to live.” Another shorter cough, but Sean ended with the back of his hand against his lips, his eyes closed, as if he was saving his precious breaths.

  Julio’s eyes scanned Sean up and down, his face not quite as defiant.

  “You’re going to die anyway. I will still get my answers and then kill you and your friends. It will put you out of your misery. I will be doing you a favor.”

  “These two don’t know a damn thing,” Sean said, flicking a hand in our direction. “I’ve been using them since I met them a few days ago. I was only trying to find some cheap weed to deal with the pain from the disease.”

  Grabbing Bolt’s arm, Julio spun him in closer and stuck the end of his rifle into Bolt’s ear.

  “So you shouldn’t mind if I spill his brains all over this filthy alley. Sí?”

  “Just because I’m about to die doesn’t mean an innocent kid should die too.” Sean held his gaze, his voice even, but not threatening.

  “I’m sick and tired of playing games. You are all going to die, but first someone will tell me who sent you and what you were trying to find,” Julio said, shifting his white eyes to each of us.

  Sean unleashed a torrent of coughs. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he’d caught some type of funky tropical disease.

  I took a purposeful step back.

  “You never told us about this bloodsucking assassin bug, or that you had Chagas disease or whatever in the hell it’s called.” I raised a pointed finger at Sean, my voice rising in volume and intensity. “You only said that you had a bad cold. You lied to us all this time. You knew you were infecting us. You were going let us die. You’re no better than any of them. Just a low-life killer.”

&nbs
p; I took two steps toward Sean, who raised his arms, fear in his eyes.

  We were both on the same page.

  One of the thugs jumped in front of me, shoving his gun against my chest.

  “¡Muevase p'atrás, regresen ahora!” he shouted.

  I kept pushing forward, trying to bait at least one more of the bandits toward me.

  “I’ll tell you who sent us; just stop hurting them,” Sean said.

  I glanced at him, but he kept his eyes off me. What was he doing? Couldn’t he see that our plan was working?

  A quick chortle from Julio, as he took a step toward Sean, but then backed up, drawing his arm closer over his mouth. “The old man is also smart. Maybe I will spare them. Tell me who sent you.”

  “El Jefe,” he said.

  “I should have known. Amador told us to be on the lookout for spies from the El Jefe clan,” Julio said.

  “I was paid two hundred dollars US to find a way—”

  Julio jumped in. “Two hundred dollars isn’t much to risk your life. Or in this case, little Sebasten’s life. You’re old and stupid.”

  “I only did it to raise money, hoping, somehow, I could find a way to pay for the medicine I need to…to keep living.” Sean’s shoulders slumped, his chin pressed against his chest.

  “I need to know the identity of El Jefe.”

  “I never saw him. Word got around that I was desperate for money. A kid even younger than Sebasten ran up to me on the street, handed me a phone number. I called it and talked to a person who said he worked for El Jefe. Said they needed more information on the Amador cartel.”

  Damn, Sean was convincing.

  “Give me that number,” Julio held out his hand, then brought it back to his person. “Drop it on the ground and let me see it.”

  “I was told to throw it away.”

  Julio lowered his stance, studying Sean. “You are lying.”

  Sean held up his hands. “I don’t have it on me, but I recall the number.”

  “Tell me. Now, quickly.”

  Julio barked instructions to his sidekick, who pulled a cracked cell phone from his pocket.

  “What is the number?”

  Sean rattled off nine digits as if it was his home number.

  All heads turned to the thug with the phone pressed against his ear, his mouth hanging open.

  I heard a high-pitched ring. The teen pulled the phone away and shook his head.

  “That number didn’t work,” Julio said, turning back to Sean. “You playing a game with us? Do I need to put a bullet in the boy’s head to get you to give me that number? I will do it.”

  “Don’t you know?” Sean said.

  “Know what?”

  “They used a burn phone.”

  Julio’s eyes glanced into the darkening sky.

  “A burn phone is like a tissue. You use it and throw it away. That’s how they work.”

  Julio looked down, as if pondering what all of this meant.

  “I don’t know El Jefe, but why is his group a threat to the Amador cartel. I thought your cartel controlled every drug moving through this island?” Sean opened his arms.

  “We do,” Julio barked. “Well, we did until the last few months.”

  “What happened?”

  Sean was trying to pull information out of Julio, anything about this El Jefe character. He must be wondering if the new gang of smugglers was a threat to take down Amador without his intervention. Perhaps he was questioning whether they might try to get into the terrorist training business. Who knew? I just hoped his Q&A session wouldn’t ruin our chances of surviving this mugging.

  “One of our main suppliers has changed his alliances to the El Jefe organization. Another one is negotiating with Señor Amador, trying to screw us,” Julio said, the rifle now resting over his shoulder and his voice more reflective. “We were on top of the world. Invincible.”

  Sean nodded.

  “The biggest blow came when one of our shipments was hijacked just off the northern coast. It was like they knew the details of our operation.”

  I almost had to force my jaw shut. Somehow, Sean had reversed the tide without Julio knowing any better. I glanced down at Bolt, on one hand and a knee, blood smeared across his face, but he was as still as a statue.

  “Who is this El Jefe character?” Sean prodded.

  “There are rumors,” Julio said, shuffling his feet.

  Sean didn’t respond, apparently allowing Julio to decide when to speak. Shifting my eyes, I could see the two thugs turning their heads toward the discussion, their rifles dangling off their hands. The mentioning of El Jefe scared them.

  “Is everything okay back here?”

  Flipping my head to the left, I saw that Father Santiago had glided into the alley. Julio and his henchmen jerked around to face him, lifting their rifles into firing position.

  “Stop!” Julio barked as his brethren yelled something in Spanish.

  In a split second, the scene had moved from calm to tense.

  “Whatever you think you are doing, it will not serve you well,” the Father said in his usual composed tone.

  I wanted to yell at him to turn and run away, but I knew that would only escalate the situation.

  The Father kept walking in our direction, seemingly unfazed by three rifles aimed straight at him. I turned to the thug nearest me, his nervous feet dancing like he was in a boxing ring. His neck began twitching.

  The three thugs yelled at each other, I think fighting over whether they should kill the Father right there.

  “Mucha gente. Hay que matar al Padre, matar a todos ellos, y salir de aquí.”

  Something about killing the Father, maybe all of us. The Father was now only twenty feet away.

  Just as I shifted my sights to Sean, Bolt…bolted, lunging toward Julio.

  Our timing be damned! I leaped two steps toward the thug directly in front of me, took hold of the rifle just as he swung my way. The automatic weapon rattled off ten, maybe twenty quick shots. Bullets whizzed by my ear, over my head, pinging the wall behind me, who knew what else. With my adrenaline spigot wide open, I yanked the thug off balance, using his rifle to spin him around. He began to fall, but his finger was caught in the trigger mechanism. He cried out just as his body hit the ground. Lifting my shoe, I started to kick in his teeth, then I spotted a bone popping out of his finger. Yanking on the rifle, his mangled bone wouldn’t give.

  “Leave him alone!”

  Looking over my shoulder, I could see the Father helplessly pawing at Julio, who was trying to kick Bolt off his leg. I ran in that direction, while quickly glancing over to Sean and his thug. The rifle had been discarded somewhere I couldn’t see. The young combatant wielded a blade, his white teeth glowing in the darkened alley. They were circling each other, and I spotted blood on Sean’s hands.

  For now he was on his own.

  Two steps before impact, I lowered my shoulder, gritted my teeth. Suddenly, another gun appeared. A handgun. Julio raised his arm as I plowed into him. The gun went off next to my ear, shooting a high-pitched spear into my brain. Someone yelled out.

  “Asshole!” I yelled at Julio as we barreled into two trashcans, spilling our bodies and all sorts of shit to the soiled pavement.

  I fought to grab his wrist with the gun, but he went spastic on me, gyrating his whole body, flailing his free arm and legs.

  “Fuck.”

  His knee had found my nuts, my body flushed of all energy in a nanosecond. Before I could take a breath, hoping to recover even ten percent of my power, Julio was on top of me, knocking my hands out of the way, trying to bring the gun downward.

  “You are going back to America in a body bag,” he grunted, as if he knew my pathetic response was useless.

  I swung wildly, my reserves still hovering near empty, connecting a couple shots to his jaw, but they merely bounced off. That only seemed to give Julio a boost, and he started to chuckle even in the middle of a claw-your-eyes-out fight.

 
; Suddenly, the barrel penetrated my flailing arms. I could see his teeth flashing in front of me, another waft of liquor invading my senses.

  “Noooo!” Bolt screamed.

  Julio turned his head, then decided to swing his gun around. He was going to shoot my young friend who had the guts of a gladiator, even if he still looked like a fourteen-year-old kid. From somewhere deep inside, a tidal wave of adrenaline flooded my veins. Flipping my body left, I knocked Julio off balance, and the gun fired into the sky. Roaring with energy, I torqued my body upward, gripping his wrist that held the gun while connecting my fist to his jaw.

  I heard a crack.

  I popped my legs out and lifted his torso with my knee and right arm. With leverage on my side, I raised him up in the air and slammed his back down to the unforgiving concrete. He released a gasping breath, the gun sliding off to the side.

  I rolled twice and stretched for the gun. My hand touched metal, then another hand pounced on top of mine.

  “It’s all yours, Booker.”

  Looking right, I found Sean staring at me three feet away, a wry grin on his face.

  “Thanks,” I said, pulling myself up and assessing our situation.

  All three of the assailants were on the ground, writhing in pain. Sean’s thug was the only one speaking, although he was curled up in a pool of blood.

  “Casi se me cortó la polla.”

  “He’s saying I almost cut off his…uh, manhood.” Sean shrugged his shoulders.

  “Did you?”

  “I think it only grazed him.”

  “Mr. Booker, come quick!”

  Bolt waved me over to the other side of a small dumpster.

  “Father!”

  The priest leaned against the rusted metal, his face sweating. He gripped his opposite upper arm, a deep crimson seeping into his brown robe.

  “I don’t cuss, but this might be my first time,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?” I asked.

  “Uh…I think a mile or so that way.” Bolt pointed west, diagonally from the alley. I paused for a second, noticing his fat lip and blood on his chin, his shirt splattered with red like some type of modern painting. Sean’s face looked like it had been dragged through the gravel, but his blood was contained to his hands.