Pawnbroker: A Thriller

by Jerry Hatchett

“And where did you get volunteers for this testing?”

  “Well...I wouldn’t exactly call them volunteers.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You’ll love this, Gray. I bought a whole damn truckload of Mexicans, eight dozen! At a bargain, too!”

  I felt sick. “Where are they, Teddy?”

  He spread his arms in a wide flourish. “All around you.”

  I hung my head, utterly unable to believe I had loved this monster a few minutes before.

  “Don’t look so glum, buddy. When we were done with them, we just cranked up the juice and sent them out on the Happy Express. No problemo!” He laughed at his own sick humor.

  “Teddy, where are my kids?”

  His smile disappeared. “You interrupted m—”

  “Kiss my ass, Teddy. I’ve heard enough. If you’re going to shoot me, just get it over with.”

  I looked him in the eye and he gave a facial shrug and raised the gun. No filmstrip of memories flashed through my mind, but an overwhelming sense of failure flooded every crevice of my soul. I would die without seeing my children, without even knowing they were alive. And there was Abby. What would happen to her? Would Teddy get away with this and ride in on a white horse to rescue her from her grief?

  My reverie was cracked by the sound of someone talking, someone other than Teddy. I pulled myself back into the tangible world and saw movement behind him. It was the girl, coming out the door. She was holding Ballard’s gun, stretched out in front of her.

  “Hombre mal,” she said. “Emilio muerto.” I was pretty sure that meant “Emilio dead.” She kept coming, kept talking. Her finger was on the trigger, her brown eyes wide and liquid. Teddy rolled his eyes in annoyance, cocked the revolver, and turned toward her.

  Chapter 139

  “Shoot him!” I said, wondering if she spoke English at all, trying to think of how to repeat my instruction in Spanish, coming up blank. He was almost facing her now and she still hadn’t pulled the trigger. She just kept walking toward him, muttering.

  I shouted, “Shoot him now!”

  But she didn’t. She was young, a kid, really, and in shock. When I saw Teddy extending his gun arm, I lowered my shoulder and dove toward him. My right shoulder hit the small of his back just as he fired. He grunted and staggered forward. The girl fell backward, blood pouring from her neck. Teddy was standing over her now, getting ready to shoot her again. I rushed him again, but this time he was prepared. Just as I came within range, he spun around and clipped me square in the center of my forehead with the butt of his revolver.

  The pain was intense and my vision blurred. I stumbled backward and tried to remain upright, but couldn’t. The next thing I remember was looking up to see Teddy standing over me, gun pointed at my face. This was it. I closed my eyes and waited. A second later, I heard a thunk. I opened my eyes just in time to see Teddy falling. He landed on top of me and lay still.

  I squirmed out from under him and still he didn’t move. A hand reached down to help me up. I took it, pulled to my feet, and found myself standing face to face with a man whose name I didn’t know, though I had seen him around town on his bicycle a thousand times. What the hell? He had a hammer in his hand, its business end covered in blood and what looked like a small piece of bone. I looked down at Teddy and saw a matching hole in the back of his skull.

  For perhaps five seconds, I was overjoyed with the realization that I had survived. Then I remembered that I had no idea where my girls were. Or my dad. Or Penny. I fumbled in my pocket and found my cell phone, then speed-dialed Jimmy. No answer. I was on my way into the building, hoping to find my radio on Docker, when I heard a rumbling noise.

  I turned around and listened as it drew closer. It sounded like a boat. A big one. I tried to run toward the water but my head lit up in pain, so I slowed it down to a gentle trot. Just as I reached the water’s edge I saw bright lights coming around the bend. The boat’s air horn bellowed, and when it stopped I thought I heard someone shouting. It sounded almost like...

  Now I could see the boat. It was the Lady. And on her deck, right up front, waving and shouting, were Julie, Mandy, and Dad.

  Chapter 140

  I stood on the muddy bank and held my girls, one in each arm. Told them I loved them. I hugged my father, long and hard, then backed away and looked him in the eye. “I love you, Dad.”

  He nodded, grabbed me in another hug, and in my ear said, “I love you, Grayson.”

  “Save a hug for me?” a voice behind me said. I turned and saw Penny hobbling toward me with the assistance of the man who had hammered Teddy. Beside them was the girl—her neck was bandaged—escorted by yet another man I didn’t know. He was mid-thirties, with the rugged look of a rural Mississippian.

  I went to Penny, gave her a gentle hug. She looked rough: bloodshot eyes, bruises around her throat. I could see what looked to be tiny burst blood vessels all over her face.

  “What happened?” I said.

  She dismissed the question with a flick of her hand. “Tell you later. Gray, this is Rocky Shackleford, and this is Ray Earl. They saved my life.”

  I shook Shackleford’s hand. His grip was strong, his hand rough. “Gray Bolton,” I said. “I have no words to express my thanks, Rocky.”

  “Ray Earl’s the hero, not me.”

  I extended my hand and Ray Earl grabbed it in a crushing grip. “I’m Ray Earl Higgins,” he said, beaming.

  Chapter 141

  Thirty minutes after we dialed 911, an FBI helicopter landed in the narrow clearing behind the building. To my amazement, the first man out was Carlos. Wiry little Carlos from my brief jail stay, the one who lorded over the cell with unquestioned authority. He was still wearing a Montello Retention Center orange jumpsuit, along with a dark blue blazer with “FBI” on the back in huge yellow letters.

  “Carlos?” I said.

  He nodded politely. “Mr. Bolton.”

  We talked for a few minutes. He went to examine the scene, and I boarded the Lady to check on Penny. She was sitting on a sofa in the salon, looking out the window.

  “Carlos, FBI?” she said. “No way!”

  I nodded. “Deep undercover. Was in there for months. They made him a trusty and he landed the job of cleaning the offices up front. He planted bugs all over the place, which is how the Bureau closed in on the operation. He also learned a lot by plain old eavesdropping. Said Mitchell was a real idiot, ran his mouth constantly. Carlos really put himself on the line for me, too.”

  Penny raised her eyebrows.

  “He was the original RoboVoice,” I said.

  “No!”

  “Made the calls to me from Mitchell’s office. Said all of Teddy’s team had those electronic voice cloaks on their phones so their voices couldn’t be identified in sensitive conversations. At first he thought I might be in the web, which is why he kept asking me about it. He wanted to gauge my reaction.”

  She shook her head. “Unreal.” A pause. “Gray, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I—”

  Dad and the girls walked in.

  “It can wait,” she said.

  Chapter 142

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  BOLTON RESIDENCE

  I opened the door and welcomed in our dinner guests. Jimmy could not have been more different from what I pictured. I expected a nerd with a pierced nose and purple hair. He wore chinos and a white button-down. Short, corporate-looking blond hair, slim and fit.

  “Jimmy?” I said when I opened the door.

  “One and the same, dude.”

  Penny was behind him, still weak looking but much better than she had been, carrying a large foil-covered dish.

  Jimmy hooked a thumb toward her. “She wouldn’t let me carry it, got to prove she’s an unstoppable super-hero-woman or something.”

  I took the dish, hugged Penny, then brought them in and made the requisite introductions. We all swapped details, put the whole story together as be
st we could.

  We ate dinner, then retired to the patio. The night was clear and cool, the moon bright. The girls were in bed and Abby and Penny were chatting inside.

  “Penny tells me you broadcast everything you were doing on the internet?”

  “True. Got a couple fat job offers from it, too. Seems nobody ever hacked a yacht before.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “You taking one of the jobs?”

  “No way, I’m an indy, man. Hey, check this out: You hear about the report on FlameOut they released this morning?”

  “Flame out?”

  “FlameOut, the street name for the drug device. They called it ‘the most dangerous, most addictive mind-altering medium in the history of mankind.’”

  “What about that fuel cell? You think it’s going to have a big effect on legitimate technology?”

  “Have you kept up with anything that’s happened in the past two days, dude?”

  “No. Once I finally got through answering the FBI’s questions, I came home and went to bed. Other than going to see my dad, I’ve done nothing but sleep.”

  “Mercy me. Well, the official line is that the fuel cell is pretty much worthless. Puts out immense power, but only lasts for minutes, and the government techies claim that’s a barrier problem they can’t overcome.”

  “You don’t believe them?”

  “No way. That technology will surface again, or I’m a poxy monkey,” he said, and took a big swig of Mountain Dew.

  I smiled, extended my good hand, and said, “Thank you, Jimmy. For everything.”

  He gripped my hand with both hands, looked me in the eye. “De nada, mi amigo. Hey, Gray? Penny said they couldn’t find the device you guys had. Know anything about that? Sure would like to take a look at one.”

  I shrugged. “Can’t help you there.”

  * * *

  At the door, I shook Jimmy’s hand and gave Penny a farewell hug. She whispered in my ear, “I love you.” Then she was gone.

  After they left, Abby and I lay in bed and talked for hours. She apologized a lot, cried a lot, and as best I could tell, told me everything, including how her slide into unfaithfulness began. I told her a lot of things, too. I held her in my arms until she went to sleep. Then I switched off the light and went to sleep with forgiveness and redemption laying heavy on my heart.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  “I wish he’d never told you where that thing was. It still makes me nervous.”

  “Nonsense! The device was incredibly easy to duplicate once I figured out that it was just the frequency of the stray emissions from the fuel cell that produced the neural excitation. I’ve run the test three times. The necrotic effect has been eliminated.”

  “Speak English, please.”

  “It doesn’t cook the brain anymore. All the fun of the buzz, including the geometric increase in libido, but none of the dangerous side effects.”

  “At least on mice. You still aren’t sure what it will be like for humans.”

  “Only one way to find out,” he said with a smile. He donned one pair of headphones, placed the second set on her head, and pressed PLAY.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said, as a fiery red ring circled both irises. “This is incredible.”

  “I’m taking you to bed, you old battle ax,” Doc said.

  Also by Jerry Hatchett: Seven Unholy Days, a brand new thriller available at Amazon and most other retailers of fine fiction. Here’s what New York Times and international bestselling author James Rollins had to say after reading it:

  "A simple glitch in a power grid heralds the beginning of a madman's scheme to bring about a biblical apocalypse. Written in a staccato style that will leave readers breathless and flipping pages long into the night, Hatchett's…novel, SEVEN UNHOLY DAYS, is a thriller not to be missed!"

  As a special bonus, I’m including the first chapter of Seven Unholy Days, beginning on the next page. Enjoy!

  From the Author: Still with me? Great! Thank you for purchasing and reading my work. Writing is a solitary pursuit in the creation phase, but it need not be at this stage. I can’t speak for all writers but I can tell you that I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to contact me via any of these…

  www.jerryhatchett.com

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  One Last Thing: After you’ve finished reading the first chapter for Seven Unholy Days, the final page of this Kindle book will give you an opportunity to share your thoughts about this book with other readers on Amazon, as well as your friends on Facebook and Twitter. Word of mouth and posted reviews are the lifeblood of today’s authors, so if you enjoyed the read, please consider spreading the word. (If you really loved it, a review on Amazon would be fantastic!) No matter what, you have my eternal gratitude. Happy reading!

  SEVEN UNHOLY DAYS

  1

  1:02 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  GREAT CENTRAL ELECTRIC

  YELLOW CREEK COMPLEX

  NEAR IUKA, MISSISSIPPI

  I felt trouble in Jimmy Lee Tarkleton’s handshake. It was a little strong and a little long. This man liked pissing contests.

  “The inspection is scheduled for next week, Decker,” he said.

  “If you have a problem, take it up with headquarters. They dispatched me.”

  “For what?” He was a bearish man, thick-chested and sturdy, and he showed no sign of moving.

  “Three days of excessive grid fluctuations. I’m here to identify the problem and recommend a solution.”

  He yanked the handset from a wall phone and dialed. “This is Tarkleton at Central. Put me through to the director, right now.” He paced back and forth, tethered by the cord.

  I looked into the fifty-foot-square nerve center of Great Central Electric. Acoustic walls, subdued indirect lighting in a high ceiling, big air-conditioning ducts. Fiberoptic cables fanned out to a long bank of servers and a crescent-shaped console held two rows of flush-mounted displays.

  A ten-foot transparent display dominated the front of the room. I drew a deep breath and smelled the thunderstorm redolence of ozone, ever present in a room full of computers. This was geek nirvana.

  Tarkleton fired questions at someone on the other end now. Under different circumstances I might have admired, even liked him. He was the first manager in a long time who didn’t fall all over himself to suck up to me.

  But after three weeks of flying around to inspect the four centers and reassure myself the facilities were up to par, along with a half-dozen useless meetings with government bureaucrats, I had no patience for Tarkleton’s brand of staunch integrity.

  I missed watching the sun sizzle into the Pacific at the end of the day, looking at the stars through crisp mountain air. I missed my dog, Norman. I wanted to go home, spend some time reading, watch a few movies, binge on Netflix. Norman loves good movies. He hates the kennel. I hate hotels.

  Tarkleton hung up the phone and turned back to me. “Mr. Decker, I just spoke with the director and she confirmed the dispatch. You’re welcome to proceed with your inspection, but like I told her, someone has bad information.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We haven’t had any abnormal grid conditions.”

  “If that’s the case there’s something very odd going on with the reporting network, and it’s not affecting the other three centers.”

  He shrugged and pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, from which he produced a pipe that he packed with tobacco and lit. “Inspect to your heart’s content,” he said through a cloud of aromatic smoke.

  When the guy manning the code console looked my way and waved, I stepped into the control room.

  “Mr. Decker. It is you!” He beamed. “I am Abdul Abidi, and I am pleasing to make your acquaintance.”

  He looked like an Abdul Abidi, and he was pleasing to make my acquaintance. A wiry little fellow with dark skin, big brown eyes, and likely a strat
ospheric IQ. If the team was in order he was the super-geek of the bunch, the real codeslinger.

  The second guy of the three-man team squinted at me through thick glasses that he pushed up every few seconds. “You sir, on the analysis station, what’s your name?”

  “Harold Beeman.” He sounded like a kazoo. I smiled and nodded.

  The final crew member, manning the main bank of system monitors, didn’t wait for me to ask. He turned in his chair and managed to look down at me without getting up. “Brett Fulton,” he said. “But you can call me Mr. Fulton.”

  “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.” Every tech crew has at least one.

  I drifted over to Abidi and we talked shop while I kept an eye on the monitors. I was pleased to see that he and the others continued working while we chatted, each man focused on his station, occasionally keying in an adjustment. The big display showed the sixteen states of the Central region glowing a uniform, reassuring green. Normal operation.

  “Can you pull up a three-day flux graph, hourly intervals, please?” I said to Abidi. Seconds later, he had it on his monitor. I leaned down and examined it. To my surprise, Tarkleton was right. It was perfect. So was every other check I ran.

  I straightened up, puzzled by the inconsistency, but satisfied that the problem wasn’t here. “You’re running a smooth operation.”

  “Very smooth,” Abidi said with a big grin.

  “Keep it up.” I shook his hand and headed for the door. The reporting glitch could be diagnosed remotely, so I needed maybe fifteen minutes to wrap up my review and I’d be homeward bound. Tonight, I’d finally sleep in my own bed again. I was almost to the door when the room exploded in a hellish cacophony of light and sound.