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

by John W. Mefford

  We’d stopped just inches shy of a hallway intersection. We’d passed two others before going down another hallway, both vacant of anything living that I could see, just more debris and filth. I pointed at my chest and moved Bolt behind me. His radar was up, for what reason I didn’t have the luxury to ask. Pressing my back against the wall, I glanced down the right side of the perpendicular hallway without exposing a body part. It was a dead-end wall.

  I swallowed and heard a crackle in my ear, but nothing else. I even held my breath for a moment. I had no idea if there were two drugged-out hoodlums waiting for us, aiming Uzis at the open space, or if it was nothing more than a rat sniffing around for more food.

  But Bolt sensed something was there. I wasn’t going to question it.

  A quick glance over my shoulder, and I gave Sean a tilt of my head. Kneeling lower, I picked up two clumps of dried mud and a small rock. Squeezing the clumps in my fist, I inched forward. I took in a breath, then angled my arm away from the wall and lofted the rock high into the hallway.

  Ping-ping, ping, ping!

  Four quick shots. I chunked the clumps of dirt down the hall, hoping to distract, possibly blind the shooter, then I dove headfirst into the open space, spinning once, my body bouncing off the far wall. I got off one shot, clipping the asshole’s shoulder. His gun dropped just as Sean lunged into the space, ramming an elbow into the guy’s chin. His head bounced off concrete and he didn’t move.

  I jumped off the ground. “Is he alive?”

  Sean rested two fingers against his neck. “Faint pulse. Unconscious. Bullet wound won’t kill him, for now.”

  Bolt ran up next to me. “Fucking A,” he said, his eyes unblinking.

  “We’ve got to move. They probably heard the gunfire.”

  “This place is huge. I highly doubt—”

  “This isn’t a debate. You going to lead or me?”

  Bolt hoofed it past me, cutting down a hallway. Sean and I followed right behind, the three of us in a steady jog, our feet low to the surface. We turned right at a dead end, then stopped in our tracks.

  “Looks like the ceiling puked,” Sean said.

  A hairball of mangled wires and vines spewed out of the ceiling, taking up the entire path.

  “Not sure if the wires are live,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

  “No other way for us to get access to that room, unless we turn around and walk through those double doors,” Bolt said, both hands to his head.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a metal grill that had been used to cover a ventilation hole. Locating the end of an exposed wire, I tossed the plate against the wire. It fell harmlessly to the floor

  “We’re going through,” I said, pressing my back against the wall.

  Sean helped peel back the thick curtain of prickly limbs and wires. Covering my face, I leaned my body forward and pumped my legs, reminding me of pushing a tackling sled at football practice many years before.

  Finally in the clear, I could feel tiny stings all over my arms and neck, a few on my face.

  “You next, Bolt. Be careful. The vines are covered with tiny thorns that will cut you.”

  A moment later, his head bumped my shin. “I found a quicker path, one that wouldn’t damage my Hollywood face.”

  “Okay, Hollywood, help me pull back some of these vines for Sean to get through.”

  Sean pushed through, but his foot got tangled in the maze of wires, and he nearly toppled into Bolt.

  “What happened to your neck?” Bolt inched backward.

  “You never stop asking questions,” Sean said, urging us to keep moving down the hallway.

  “Samantha’s in the same phase, but she’s six,” I said.

  “I just…” Bolt didn’t know what to say.

  “You already know too much.” Sean paused, then hacked up a guttural cough. “This,” he pointed to the mangled flesh on his neck, “is why I sound like my larynx was diced in a food processor.”

  Bolt winced, showing a grill of white and yellow teeth. I doubted he’d seen a dentist his entire life.

  “Where now?” I asked.

  Bolt darted down the hall, finally turning right at a dead end. He brought his finger to his mouth. “This is where we must be very quiet,” he whispered.

  Sean and I both moved like we were featherweights, instead of the two-hundred-plus pounds that we each carried. For being just south of sixty years of age, Sean’s level of fitness was phenomenal. Then again, if my life was on the line every day like his was, the motivational factor would be automatic—at least up until the time I quit.

  He can quit, can’t he?

  Just before I was about to trip over a small set of stairs, Sean nudged me. Long, black curtains hung from a higher ceiling. Some were ripped, all were coated with a thick film of dust, and a few had fallen to the floor around us, gray-squared linoleum.

  Bolt held up a hand, moving to his hands and knees. I heard more voices, muffled, but close by. Sean and I crawled along the floor, moving around another thick curtain, and then the space opened up, aside from looking squarely at the backside of an upright piano.

  Looking up, I noticed a metal rod of spotlights, or where they used to be.

  “Are we on a stage?” I whispered to Bolt.

  He nodded, pointing a finger toward the piano.

  “¿Cuándo fue la última vez que alguien trató de llamar a Julio?”

  I traded stares with Sean as Bolt whispered to me. “Amador is asking when someone last tried calling Julio.”

  Scooting on my elbows, I peeked around the ancient piano, which appeared to be missing three of its four wheels. No sign of Esteban. Amador paced back and forth across a floor covered by a shredded carpet. A card table was set up off to the side, two empty fold-out chairs facing each other. Five of Amador’s closest thugs were facing the opposite wall with the doors. One appeared to be Four Fingers. He must have arrived since we’d entered the back door, after he’d tried to ogle Britney back at the hotel. Either he and his hooligan friends hadn’t heard the earlier shooting, or one of their colleagues had run off to check on their wounded friend. Given Amador’s anger about Julio’s delay in arriving with someone else, his focus wasn’t on who was in the rundown building, but rather who was about to show up—that much was obvious.

  A quick scan of the rectangular room, and it looked like an elementary auditorium. The stage was no more than three feet off the ground. A bank of offices with glass windows rimmed the left side of the expansive space. They appeared mostly dark. A section of the ceiling in the far right corner had caved in, just as we’d seen in the hallway and, earlier, downstairs. Vines and wires spewed into the room, giving the room an Amazon rain forest vibe. Just the thought produced more sweat.

  Curling back to our little safe zone, I explained the setup. Sean asked if all five had weapons.

  “Must have had a special sale at Walmart. All are carrying Uzis.”

  “Do you think they’re waiting for Julio to bring Esteban?” Bolt asked.

  Shaking my head, I said, “Doubtful. You don’t need five guys with Uzis to take custody of a kid you abducted.”

  Sean chewed the inside of his cheek a quick moment. Twisting on the balls of his feet, he poked an eye around the piano, then angled his head upward.

  “This is a setup. I’ll be back.” Sean crawled around the curtains before I could stop him.

  “Fuck,” I said.

  “Where is Mr. Sean going?” Bolt splayed his arms.

  “He’s going to get himself killed. Us too, dammit.”

  I inhaled, ensuring oxygen was reaching my brain. I had no idea where Esteban was and wondered if we’d just interrupted some type of high-level drug-smuggling convention. We were outmanned and outgunned, and I couldn’t let this fourteen-year-old, smartass kid to my right die, regardless of Sean’s ultimate mission.

  I cursed silently this time, trying to figure out a plan that wouldn’t get us all killed, yet somehow would provide us an
opportunity to find Esteban alive. I realized it might take something severe, somehow taking out the henchmen, then threatening Amador with his life. Hard to imagine success. I moved back to the side of the piano just as the double doors swung open.

  Father Santiago, flanked by Julio and one of his buddies that we’d corralled in the alley.

  I forced my eyes shut for a couple of seconds, not believing what I was seeing.

  Amador spun on his heels. He twisted his head and held out his arms, every action stiff.

  “Father…I, uh…what brings you to this morbid building?” Amador glanced back at Four Fingers, then to Julio, and then back to the priest.

  Had that fucker, Julio, abducted Father Santiago to continue to show his allegiance to the Amador cartel? He was absolute scum.

  Bolt crawled around the piano next to me. He started to mouth something I couldn’t understand, all the while lifting his shoulders and shaking his head.

  “I come in peace,” the Father said, approaching Amador with his arm in a sling from the earlier scrap.

  “He’s naïve if he thinks he’s going to convince Amador to stop the killing and tell him where Esteban is,” I whispered to Bolt.

  I pulled my pistol out of my waistband, still pissed at Sean for leaving us. We couldn’t let the priest get killed. I knew Amador wouldn’t hesitate in making him another example that he could use to flaunt his power and intimidation.

  The Father stopped about six feet in front of Amador, who studied him. “Why are you here?” He truly seemed puzzled, if not confused.

  “To hold a calm discussion,” the Father said in his normal pleasant tone.

  I braced for a violent reprisal. Lifting up to my forearms, I prepped my body to lunge off the stage and take out as many of the bad guys as possible before I got hit. I could only hope that Sean would jump in and cover me.

  “Where is this so-called El Jefe?” Amador asked, turning his head to Julio.

  The Father meandered to his right, glancing at the rubble around him. “I understand that the L-FARC group has been using this facility as part of their training.”

  What did he just say? Wondering where this was going, I traded a quick glace with Bolt, his face turning paler every second.

  Amador clapped his hands twice, and no one moved. “What has this world come to?” He turned to his minions, then twirled to face the priest, who ambled about like he was window shopping.

  “I’d been thinking all along that a member of the Trujillo family had returned to the Dominican, seeking vengeance, vying to gain control of this country, stealing from me, killing my people.” Amador thumped his chest.

  “You, Father Santiago, you are El Jefe!” His voice bounced off the walls.

  Bolt grabbed my shoulder. Shifting my eyes, I could see his jaw hanging open. I knew he must be devastated. It was hard to imagine. Impossible.

  Silence for a few seconds. I could see Amador’s chest rise and fall with each breath. His men traded stares, nervously shuffling their feet. Four Fingers crossed himself, then aimed his gun toward the Father.

  The Father cast a gaze on Amador, holding up a finger. “There are consequences for every action that is taken.”

  “Do you hear this, gentlemen?” Amador glanced behind him. I ducked my head lower, hoping he didn’t spot me.

  “I am going to Hell. That is a fact, and I cannot reverse it,” Amador said, his hands clasped behind his back. “So your spiritual threats won’t work on me. But you…you are nothing more than a fucking hypocrite. Are there no more good people left in this world?” He released a chuckle, then brought his fist to his nose and sniffed twice.

  Suddenly, the swivel doors popped open. Britney!

  “What the—?” Bolt said.

  Instinctively, I pushed up from the floor, but Bolt pulled me back.

  “Alisa, my dear, what bring you to the outskirts of Santo Domingo?” Amador wandered a few steps, his face coiled in confusion.

  Wearing tight jeans and heels that sounded more solid than a baseball bat bouncing off the linoleum, Britney marched across the floor like a woman possessed, her eyes focused on one man in the room. Without slowing her pace one bit, she walked up to Amador and smacked his face, then jerked her knee into his crotch.

  Four Fingers started laughing, until he got the cold stare from his boss. Amador twisted his head, adjusting his jaw. As he coiled his arm back to hit her, I rose from my stance, ready to jump into the fray—feeling protective of the woman who’d once loved me and almost killed me.

  No one looked in my direction as I took a step, unsure if I should fire a warning shot or simply try to take out thug number one. Amador swung his arm—but it was blocked by the muzzle of Julio’s rifle.

  “No,” Julio said.

  “You dare to stand up to Miguel Amador? You have just signed your death certificate, mi amigo. Kill him. Now!” he shouted toward his guards.

  Britney lifted a gun at his forehead. “I’m El Jefe, mother fucker.”

  He chuckled once.

  I crouched down, trying to process what I’d just heard. The schoolteacher, who had professed her love to Juan, her desire to save his son…how could she be the person everyone feared?

  “You think it’s funny. So do I,” she said in her normal accent.

  “What happened to your British accent?”

  “It was an act. I fooled you and everyone else on this island. I funneled money through the school and used it to fund a business that competes against yours. The profit margins are just insane. But you couldn’t deal with a little competition.”

  “You stole from me,” he said, his face sweating bullets.

  “I took advantage of opportunities given to me in the marketplace, just like any other entrepreneur. But you had to make it personal,” she said.

  I could feel my teeth grinding, as flames of air spewed through my nostrils. She’d fooled me. Again.

  “Now, your thugs over there are going to put down their guns and lie on the ground face down.”

  “Julio, why?” Amador asked.

  “El Jefe has true power and she respects me. That is why.”

  Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed near the vines and wires, Sean falling on top of another man. They both grunted as they bounced off the surface.

  Ping.

  Someone fired, people hit the ground, and Uzis went off everywhere.

  19

  Pushing Bolt back behind the piano, I could hear a cacophony of bullets bouncing wildly all over the expansive room. I led with my gun, my head on a swivel. At ten o’clock, I spotted Four Fingers. I took aim and a bullet pierced his temple just before I fired. He crumpled to the ground.

  Screaming to my right. I flipped, saw a man on the floor slapping and pawing at Sean. The CIA operative connected with a jab to his nose, stunning the man. Sean then wedged a knife into the chest, yanking it downward. The man twitched, then fell from his knees onto the floor, digging the blade deeper.

  I leaped off the stage as one of Amador’s thugs took aim at the Father, who held up his arms. I fired a single shot, and it punctured his shoulder, blood pouring like a water fountain. The bodyguard flailed, then fell to the ground, groaning and holding his arm.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bolt racing into one of the offices. Dammit, he’s going to get hit by a wayward bullet.

  Another Amador thug rushed the defenseless Father and bounced the butt of his gun off his head. The Father fell straight back to the ground. He didn’t budge. He was lifeless.

  In a dead run, I got to the pair before the thug looked up and swung my gun into his jaw. He fell like a tree. I heard wicked laughter and flipped my head right. Amador had somehow wrestled the gun away from Britney and now held it against her head. Over his shoulder, as both sides took each other down, Sean bull-rushed Julio. The pair slammed into the card table.

  I raised my gun and fired. Amador fell into Britney, who looked up at me as Amador’s blood smeared down her white shirt.

 
; A man growled, and I turned to see Julio’s buddy coming right at me, firing round after round from his handgun. Bullets whizzed by my head. No time to raise my gun, I lunged for the thug’s arm as he ran right into me. We went to ground hard, but I refused to let go. He kicked and kneed me, then dug his teeth into my shoulder.

  “Mother—” I started to yell.

  Throwing my arm downward, I felt one of his teeth penetrate my skin. Blood went everywhere as I reached for his jaw. His tooth was embedded in my skin. I got off four body shots and an uppercut to his glass jaw, and he was out.

  Looking over my shoulder, a ham-sized fist slammed into my eye before I knew what hit me.

  “Stop!” Bolt yelled, running straight for the thug.

  The man turned his gun toward my little friend. I lunged at him just as bullets fired. I landed on top of the man and saw blood oozing down my chest. I forced out a breath and pushed off his body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and I knew he’d been hit, not me. Sean must have killed him.

  Turning back around, Britney used a roundhouse kick to send Sean’s gun flying to the floor, then she grabbed Bolt around the neck in one smooth move.

  Her eyes had an evil, almost possessed sparkle. “Britney, it’s over. Everyone is dead, or halfway there. Stop and put your gun down.”

  “Booker, you more than anyone should know that it’s never over. Do you hear the fat lady singing?” She put a hand to her ear then released a wicked laugh. “I didn’t think so.”

  “It’s Bolt. You can’t hurt him.”

  “For me and my survival, I will hurt anyone I need to.”

  Sean took a step in her direction.

  “That wouldn’t be wise, dear old Dad.” She laughed again. “You don’t think I know? I have contacts, more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Dammit, Britney, you promised!” I eyed Bolt, who looked up at Britney, his infatuation with her now nothing more than pure fear.

  “Booker, Sean, think about what we could do together. We could rule this entire island. No one could stop us.”

  “You’ve already soiled the mind of a priest, and now you think you can brainwash us?”