Matt: A Matt Godfrey Short thriller Trilogy

by Ahmad Ardalan

  As he sat there, he recalled Jane and his other victims, the blood, the screaming, and the awful, caustic smell of lye. He was slowly building himself back up to the killer he had once been. It wasn’t that he had any intention of killing women again. He just needed his adrenaline to spike so he could properly take care of Hunterman. He had been Nigel’s prisoner, his pawn, for far too long. Now, he had to switch gears. He was no longer in the passenger seat. No, now Matt was the driver, and by the time he left the strip club, he was as close as he would ever be to being an F1 car racer. “This is it,” he said to himself. “I am…ready.”

  * * *

  Nigel showed up the next day, and just as Matt expected, his tune had changed. He threatened and cursed, but Matt just listened to what he wanted and selectively ignored the rest. At moments, Matt wished he had seen Nigel in Dubai and forced him to enjoy the beauty of Beethoven while taking his last breaths, but he’d had bigger plans, larger fish to fry.

  Now, Nigel was talking nonsense. The Feds were nowhere in their investigation, and they didn’t have a clue about Hunterman. The corpses of the bikers and Daniel had led nowhere. Because Nigel was grasping at straws, the hour was a waste, just a useless discussion that Matt wished had not invaded his morning.

  Before Nigel left, he looked sternly at Matt and said, “If something doesn’t turn up soon, we’ll just throw your ass out in the cold and wait for Hunterman to fish you out. I’m sorry, but we’re outta leads, and I’m about ready to take that chance.”

  Matt laughed after Nigel made the threat and stepped out the door. He was light years ahead of the Feds. If anyone was going to put Matt out in the cold, he would do it himself. He had no use for Nigel or the Feds. The next day, he would be two million dollars richer, thanks to his friends at Hunterman, and he’d soon be completely untouchable again.

  * * *

  Matt arrived at the convention early, as per his usual m.o. He had dressed in black trousers, a green shirt, a gray jacket, and a fake black beard. He would pass as an American Muslim, not Middle Eastern or Sub Asian, perhaps a convert. His complexion was a bit of a problem, but the beard made the whole thing believable.

  After he filled out the registration papers and donated twenty dollars to the admirable cause of helping the suffering women and children in Syria, he stepped into the meeting hall and sat down for a lecture entitled, “Muslim Education and Uprising.”

  Truth be told, Matt didn’t listen to a single word. Instead, he listened to an audio version of Stephen King’s The Shining, his favorite novel. Of course he’d seen the movie, but he was of the opinion that despite Jack Nicholson’s superb rendition, it was nothing as spectacular as the book. Matt had read it three times, but this was his first experience listening to it, and he appreciated the fact that the narrators did such a wonderful job. Another great addition to this masterpiece of a plan, Matt thought. When the audience began clapping at the end of the presentation, Matt was jolted back to reality and joined in on the applause, as if it was the best speech he’d ever heard.

  He had exactly forty minutes left to make the call. Of course he was not alone, for the goons had followed him there. When Nigel asked Matt why he was attending a Muslim convention, Matt offered him the three words that he’d found himself saying quite frequently lately: “Fuck off, Nigel.”

  He would eventually find a restroom, where he would borrow a phone from a stranger and make his call in privacy, without the threat of cameras. Until then, Matt browsed the bazaar. He nibbled on some kebabs, a chicken shawarma sandwich, a spoonful of biryani rice.

  He also enjoyed checking out the Arabic paintings; their written language was beautiful to him, like art itself, and he found unique irony that in Arabic, his name meant “dead.” He had learned that one day in Dubai, at his old office, from his Iraqi colleague, Omar. Matt still didn’t know what happened to Omar or the rest of his acquaintances in Dubai. He had taken them all for a ride. Some deserved it, and some didn’t, but poor Omar was just a good guy in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong time.

  When the moment of truth approached, Matt made his way to the bathroom at the far end of the place. There were two guys already in the men’s room. When they were within earshot, he took his phone out and pretended that he was talking to his daughter. “Why are you crying, hon’? Where is your mother? Hello? Hello!” he said in a panicked voice, then pulled his phone away from his ear, looked at it, and scoffed, as if his battery was dead. “Not now!” he shouted at the phone.

  The older man of the two offered his cell phone to the disgruntled stranger right away.

  Matt gave him a shy smile and took it. “Thanks so much,” he said. “I’ll give it right back.” He then walked to the far end of the restroom, punched in the number he’d memorized, and made the call.

  “Yes, Matt?” answered Willis.

  “I will text you the details now. You have an hour. Two million. Next week, at nine a.m., another call. No mistakes, no excuses.” Matt then ended the call and quickly texted the details and erased the sent message. He walked back across the floor and handed the phone back to the old man. “Thanks so much,” he said. “I think we’re okay now. I’ve gotta remember to charge mine more often.”

  The old man smiled at him, took the phone, and walked out.

  Matt quickly made his way out of the place, got in his car, and called Nigel. He longed to treat himself to a nice meal, as he was feeling a bit gleeful. It was as if he’d won a secret lottery, and he was about to be a couple million dollars richer. He was sure Hunterman would comply, for they’d already lost five men, and they obviously had no idea where he was. He knew they would oblige. Eventually, they would inevitably catch up with him, but he would determine that, and it would happen in a week.

  Meanwhile, the deposit from Hunterman would be transferred to an account in the British Virgin Islands. Within a minute, the money would automatically move twice, to different accounts, each registered under different names. Matt had planned it all out back in Buenos Aires. By noon the next day, all that cash would be transformed into stock shares in gold, in the name of one Edward Stanley. The price of gold was currently $1,205, but by the time he resumed life as Edward, if that time ever came, that price could be far different, hopefully in his favor. He really couldn’t care less; it was cash in his pocket without any hassle, thanks to the old Muslim from the men’s room.

  Matt was in the mood for Chinese, so he asked Nigel to choose a good place. At dinner, there was less hostility between the two of them, though they didn’t have much to talk about and seemed to avoid conversation. As much as Nigel wanted to be the one to take down the notorious Hunterman Company, a case that would make him famous in the Bureau, his faith in his ability to do so was quickly fading. He had thought Matt was his ticket to great reward, but now it appeared that was not so. As far as he was concerned, Matt’s days as a free man were quickly dwindling. Matt, on the other hand, was not yet ready to ask Nigel for a final favor, so they spent their hour mainly discussing his past, before his wife was murdered. The tension was palpable, though, and in the midst of that discussion, between bites of moo goo gai pan and crab rangoons, the two took guarded shots at one another about who had messed up more with the Hunterman situation.

  * * *

  Five days passed, and Matt had been very busy with his plan. He was ready for the expected faceoff with Hunterman. He’d carefully searched the home for bugs and hidden cameras, and even though Nigel assured him that they were not spying on him there, he still checked it twice a day.

  After checking it once more, he moved the furniture around to fit the anticipated scenario. They could enter through the front door or the side door in the kitchen. The corner house where the Feds had put him had a back door, but it was too close to the neighbors, and Matt knew Hunterman would not dare make a stupid move like that.

  With supplies and things he bought at Home Depot and IKEA, he created a barracks for himself in the living room. He made sure the kitchen do
or was not accessible by locking it from the outside and placing a massive cupboard against it on the inside. He used sandbags to block the four windows, not allowing any light in.

  He was prepared for them, but there was one thing missing, and it was the most important: weapons to finish them off. That was the favor he needed from Nigel, and to get him to comply, he would have to convince him of the validity of his plan. He didn’t want the Feds involved; he only wanted Nigel’s help.

  Matt called Nigel later that night and told him that something urgent had come up. He also informed him that he should visit the next day. “You’re in for a big surprise,” he said. Matt just hoped it would be a good one, for if Nigel objected or threatened his plan, he would follow all the victims Matt had previously laid to rest. Matt didn’t want that to happen, as it would severely complicate things, and he would have no way to get the weapons he would need to face the wrath of Hunterman. He knew Nigel was an ambitious man, and Matt would play on that.

  When Matt heard Nigel parking his car out front, he thought it might be better to greet him outside. It wouldn’t be wise to let him see the battlefield I’ve turned this place into, he surmised. It’s best to let him take it in gradually. So, before Nigel could even step out of the car, Matt was there, telling him to keep the engine running. “Let’s take a ride, Nigel,” Matt said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “You’re going to love what I have to tell you.”

  “Are you sure? Because the only thing, I’d love to hear is that you just swallowed poison and have only a few hours to live. Where to, Mathews?” Nigel replied, putting the car in reverse.

  “Wow. We’re in a good mood today, aren’t we?” Matt said, laughing.

  “Okay, you bastard. That’s it!” Nigel shouted. He then whipped a gun out of his waistband and placed it against Matt’s forehead.

  “Nigel,” Matt said calmly, slowly pushing the gun away from his head, “it would be best if you save your energy and ammo for the Hunterman guys tomorrow.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Nigel spat, his voice an octave lower. “Spit it out.”

  “Take me back home,” Matt said, even though they hadn’t gone far at all. “I’d rather show you than tell you. Also, calm down and lower your voice, would you? I mean, I could yell too. I’m no angel, as I’m sure you know. My history speaks for itself.” Matt then rolled down the window and casually stuck his hand out to feel the cool breeze. The last time he’d done that was riding in a used car on his way back to Dubai. That time, his plan had worked perfectly. This time, it was a bit more of a gamble, but at least he was not alone. The man next to him, angrily turning the car around was desperate for success and promotion and while their motives were different, they shared one common goal: to take down Hunterman at all costs.

  Back at the house, Nigel silently took it all in. He looked at the sandbags, the furniture, and the Matt-made barracks. He walked upstairs, then came back down again, still not saying a word. He then took a beer from the refrigerator and headed for the door. “Not bad, Mathews,” he finally said. “You plan to face Hunterman here, huh? Hmm. Good setup, and it might even keep you alive for a few minutes. I guess I’ll see ya in a few hours, champ.” With that, Nigel took a huge gulp from the beer and started to make his way out.

  “That is what you are here for, some wise advice. Also get me a gun, smartass,” Matt replied. “I hope I can count on a guy who’s screwed me over several times and—”

  Before Matt could finish his complaint, he was cut off by the slam of the door on Nigel’s way out...

  Matt was furious that Nigel had made such a quick exit without promising to help him. He didn’t know what to expect, but his gut told him Nigel was in and that he was smart enough to know not to fill the Feds in on the plan. There was little Matt hated more in life than being in a state of uncertainty, feeling as if his fate did not rest entirely in his own hands. He needed Nigel, but he also had to make sure he wasn’t an uncontrollable variable, and that had him a bit on edge.

  * * *

  Time passed slowly, each minute stretching into its own eternity. An hour and a half later, there were two knocks on the door, and Matt, only half-dressed, walked over to answer it.

  “You have exactly five minutes to convince me this will work,” Nigel said from his place in the doorway, “and the clock’s already ticking. Tell me again where we are.”

  Matt told him about his previous calls to Willis, and he could tell, by the furious and humiliated look on Nigel’s face, that Nigel was pissed off at his goons, who’d never detected a thing. “I’ll be calling again tomorrow morning,” he said. “That call will intimidate them. I will demand more money, a few more million. Halfway through the call, I’ll disconnect, then call back again, as if the message was cut off and didn’t get through.”

  “Hmm” Nigel said, arching an eyebrow. “Are all the theatrics necessary?”

  “Well, it will give Hunterman time to trace the call. Once there’s no doubt where I am, I’m sure they’ll be stopping by. During the day, I’ll go outside a few times, no longer than a minute. Once I know they’ve located me, I’ll barricade myself in here.”

  “And then what?”

  “Well, I just have to survive and make sure one of them lives. I’ll try to get hold of Willis or somebody who has great influence at Hunterman.”

  “What do you need me for in this crazy plan of yours?” Nigel asked.

  “I just need a gun and you as a backup. I don’t trust your guys. Think about it, Nigel. You, alone, will be able to take credit for singlehandedly taking Hunterman down, and I’ll get Halden. It’s a win-win situation,” Matt said.

  Nigel listened to every word Matt said, and after Matt finished, he just stood there, quiet for a moment. He finally turned and walked to his car, opened the trunk, took a large sports bag, and walked back up to Matt. “Gun for you, rifle for me,” he said. “I’ve also got two bulletproof vests, two night-vision binoculars, handcuffs, the cell you will call from, and tear gas masks. A close friend of mine will install some cameras on the street and in the house. He’ll be here in a few hours. One thing though…”

  “What?” Matt asked.

  “It’s stupid for you to go outside during the call. The camera will catch them when they get here. We’re not dealing with innocent women or average rapists here, Mathews,” Nigel concluded. ”We’ve gotta be careful.”

  “Gee, you’re right Nigel. They’re professionals, and your Bureau’s record with them is staggering!” Matt replied sarcastically.

  “Mathews, I wouldn’t trust me if I were you. By the end of this fiasco, I might just put a bullet in your skull myself.”

  Matt laughed. “Oh, but I do trust you, Nigel. Besides, you aren’t the only one with a gun,”

  A short while later, Nigel’s friend showed up, as promised, and installed three cameras: one on each end of the street and another on the front of the house. The recording devices were almost undetectable, no bigger than an inch, but they captured images as clear as any HD movie Matt had ever seen, and they held a forty-eight hour charge, which would be more than enough.

  “We’re all set,” Nigel said. “I’ll skip work tomorrow, so I’ll see you at eight,” and just like that, Matt’s hesitant but willing partner was out the door.

  The Faceoff

  Nigel arrived exactly at eight, after walking two blocks, from the point where he’d asked the taxi to drop him off. Clean-shaven and dressed in a blue jogging suit, he was all business.

  What was left of the living room smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and they both sat down and enjoyed a big mug of it. They were calm and knew the plan, so few words were spoken between them. Every now and then, one would look at his watch, and when it was a quarter till nine, they suddenly came to life.

  “Let me go for a smoke, and then I’ll make the call,” Matt said, then grabbed the pack and left.

  When Matt came back within a few minutes, Nigel looked him sternly in the eyes and
coached, “Be in control. Just try to sound…normal.”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday, Nigel,” Matt said, sounding a bit insulted. “Half the world is looking for me. I’m well aware how to talk to these guys.”

  “Just messing with you,” Nigel said, though he certainly didn’t sound like he was joking. “You seem more serious, more convincing when you’re mad.”

  “Okay. It’s nine sharp, time to give ‘em a ring.” Matt sat down next to Nigel and calmly dialed.

  The phone rang once, twice, then three times before Willis asked, “Matt, are we finished with the games?”

  “My expenses are high, and the place where I intend to retire in requires more mo…” Before he finished the sentence, Matt purposely trailed off, hung up the phone, and looked at Nigel.

  Nigel nodded. “Wait.” A few seconds later, he nodded again. “Now. Call back, and they’ll have a trace on it within twenty seconds.”

  Matt dialed again. “Same bank details,” he said. “I want another two million transferred by tomorrow at noon. I assure you, Willis, that this will be my last request.”

  “No more money, Matt. Enough with the continuous blackmail. You can threaten us till your hair turns white, as far as I am concerned. You already got more than you des—”

  Nigel grabbed the phone and closed it. “Destroy it. They already know our location, so we can just sit and wait. Since they can’t track the phone to a name, the location will be their next move.”

  Matt smiled, satisfied with a job well done, and turned on the TV. “How about we see what’s going on in the neighborhood, shall we? I’ll make some more coffee too.”

  Cars came and went, and plate numbers were noted by Matt, then checked by Nigel through one of his contacts at the Bureau, someone Nigel trusted. None of the plate numbers returned anything suspicious: just normal traffic fines, car registration renewals, and ordinary owners. It took only a few minutes to check the plates, and they’d already checked twenty-three by a quarter after noon.