Red on the Run (The Syndicate-Born Trilogy Book 1)
Page 30
Only a handful of people know about the part I played in making this happen, which is okay. Even now, the demise of The Syndicate is publicly credited to the real hero, Superman flying in to save the day, and getting the girl—except he was shot and killed on the courtroom steps.
My anonymity won’t last for long, though. When everything’s said and done, Jason Knettle is going to be a household name, and it’ll be all because of her. In the days leading up to her death, she gave me the go-ahead to write her story—the story. I took it and ran with it—like I always do—but I should’ve known better. Everything about her was dangerous.
I’m compelled to tell it—the truth; the story no one else felt brave enough to tell.
Stupid.
The Syndicate wanted the world to forget they ever existed.
Never underestimate powerful men and their desire to maintain their thrones.
When I first took on this project, I thought I was assuming all the risks. It’s safe to say I haven’t learned from my mistakes because here I am, a middle-aged man chasing after the bad guys, with a typewriter as my only weapon. Weeks, maybe months, have passed since that fateful day when I first took up this futile cause. I’m not really sure anymore, as the days and weeks have begun to melt into each other.
Today, like any other day, I work until the point of exhaustion, my cramped, trembling fingers stumbling along the keys, causing the hammers of the ancient typewriter to swing up and stamp the slug metal type against the ribbon. I only stop typing long enough to tip back the bottle of single malt Royal Lochnagar, relishing a mouthful of the burning liquid, though the bite on my raw throat makes me grimace.
The words are starting to blur together. I’m tired, or maybe I’m just drunk. It’s hard to think as the pain in my gut worsens. The doctor said I’m not supposed to be drinking anymore, that it could kill me. It would be just my luck that I’d drink myself to death before I’m even done with the work, but there’s no stopping me now. Apparently, I lack the fortitude necessary to face this challenge sober. Maybe later, if I survive this ordeal, I’ll give sobriety a go, but until then, I don’t see any other way to go forward.
She would be disappointed in my falling so far off the wagon. It hurts to think about her, but her smell still lingers on my clothes and on the bed we shared together. She needs me to stand tall and save the day. They’re out there, and people are depending on me to come through, because lives are on the line, for fuck’s sake, and Superman is nowhere to be found.
Today Jimmy Olsen is the best hero the world can hope to get.
CHAPTER 1
Shockoe Slip
Richmond, Virginia
June 14, 2025
11:00 PM
~~~
It’s all my fault, Tim thought as he stumbled down the haunted cobblestone streets of Shockoe Slip. At eighty-seven years old, he’d outlived his wife and two daughters. His son, and only remaining child, had been released from prison seven years ago, but their relationship was almost non-existent. His boy served a ten-year sentence for the conspiracy to murder his twin sister—among other things.
It’s all my fault.
She never outright blamed him for it all going south, but he knew from the look in her eye that she’d blamed him.
He looked up at the familiar homes of this street, which he so often wandered at odd hours of the night, looking for forgiveness, redemption, and maybe, if he was honest with himself, trouble.
Tonight he hoped the late night stroll might bring him some clarity. The death of his daughter four days prior brought back the insomnia, a nuisance that had plagued him on and off for years. Her funeral would occur in a little over twenty-four hours.
Should I go or am I going to make things worse?
Even though they had made peace with each other years ago, he still got the impression he wouldn’t be welcome.
So far, his late-night stroll had failed to provide the answers he hoped it would, so he started back towards home. The sound of heels clicking on stone quickened behind him.
My past is catching up with me.
When the crack and whine of the gun discharged, shattering the quiet of the night, he, at last, found some rest.
***
Shockoe Slip
Richmond, Virginia
June 15, 2025
3:30 AM
~~~
Under the cloak of darkness, Detective Marianna Espinosa changed into her spare crime scene clothes. The distinct smell of a crime scene could linger despite the best efforts of several dry cleaners, so she always kept a spare handy.
Once dressed, she unzipped her cosmetic bag, pulled out a small tub of Vicks Vapor Rub, spread a thin film of it inside her nostrils, and shut her trunk. The CSIs teased her about it behind her back but she didn’t care. A nineteen-year veteran on the force, she loved her job and was good at it. So what if she couldn’t get past the smell.
The red and blue flashing lights of the crime scene called to her like a beacon.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” She looked both ways and crossed the street.
One of the uniformed officers held up the yellow tape of the secured crime scene for her to walk under. “Detective.” He greeted her with a tip of his hat.
“Who’s the first responding officer tonight, Joe?”
He motioned over the hill with the flick of his wrist to the officer hunched over a dead body. “Lloyd, ma’am.”
She strode toward the body splayed out on the street, the loud clip-clop of her shoes echoing through the early morning on the cobblestone, alerting others to her arrival. “What do you have there, Lloyd?”
The young officer, one of her favorites to work with, pulled out the notes on his pad. “Ma’am, the decedent is an elderly white male with a single gunshot wound to the head. An anonymous call came into the station at 2330 hours. I arrived on the scene at zero hundred hours. At that time, the streets were deserted. A Glock 42 was found next to the body. It’s already been bagged.” He tilted his head toward a numbered yellow tent marker. “He didn’t have a wallet or any kind of identifying information on his person. We canvassed the immediate vicinity and none of the neighbors reported hearing anything unusual.”
The Crime Scene Investigator on scene, a young woman whose name Marianna couldn’t recall, squatted down and placed the index finger of the dead body into a curved print reader attached to her tablet, and scanned his print.
She didn’t have to wait long. “Detective, the DMV records show the decedent to be Richmond resident, Timothy Mitchel.”
The tech didn’t appear to recognize the name, but Marianna did.
The tech regarded her with a quizzical arch of her brow. “Do you know him?”
Marianna nodded. “Yeah, I know him. He was a part of The Syndicate trial years ago.”
The tech shrugged off the news.
For Marianna, it struck a reminiscent chord. Her friendship with Katherine and Jason had pulled her into the case and had propelled her career forward especially after she’d taken Scott Mitchel, Katherine’s brother, into custody.
Questions began to nag at Marianna: Why did someone kill Mr. Mitchel execution-style now, seventeen years after the trial in which he testified against The Syndicate? Does this have anything to do with Katherine’s funeral today?
Marianna had promised to meet Jason there around five that afternoon.
It’s going to be a long day.
***
Hollywood Cemetery
Richmond, Virginia
June 15, 2025
5:00 PM
~~~
Jason sat crisscross on the bumpy ground. The brutal sun beat down on him despite the leafy shade trees scattered all over the cemetery. A fine sheet of sweat covered his face and his clothes clung to him like a second skin. His best friend, the love of his life, was lost to him forever.
In a matter of a couple of hours, he’d managed to drink three-quarters of his bottle of scotch. He slapped himsel
f for good measure to test it out—numb.
Yep, I’m drunk, blotto. Blackout central is right around the corner.
At that moment, he was supposed to be standing beside the other mourners—ashes to ashes and all that shit. Instead, he was on the other side of the cemetery having a drink with Iron Dog, the “famous” Hollywood Cemetery monument.
“I shou-ould be there, should n’ I, Iron?” He took a long gulping swig of the scotch, belched up the contents of his stomach, and swallowed it back down. “She’s just go-one.”
His stomach, in turmoil after days of steady drinking, abruptly declared its displeasure. He vomited on the ground and the beloved monument, which stared blankly back at him. “Aw shi-it, man, I... sorry.” He thoughtfully wiped the contents of his stomach from the dog’s paws. “Here, ‘lil buddy, have a ‘lil bit of the dog that bit ya.” He poured some of the scotch near the dog’s muzzle.
When a hand touched him on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jeezus!”
Marianna.
“J, what are you doing?” She squatted down beside him on the one clean patch of ground.
“Accepting my Nobel Prize.” He hiccupped... hard. “Wuz it looks like?” he said before swallowing back round two of his stomach’s protest.
“Maybe it’s time to go home and sleep this off.” She grimaced and placed her perfectly manicured hand on his arm.
He shrugged her off. “Get your hands off–a-me. I’ll go when I’m good ‘n re-eady.” This time he wasn’t able to hold it back, and ended up vomiting all down his dress shirt and pants.
“Jesus, Jason. Come on. I’m sending you home before you get arrested.”
He didn’t protest as she pulled him to his feet, but didn’t exactly cooperate either.
“You’re going to have to work with me here.”
Fuck, she’s right. I need to go home.
He concentrated hard on putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way to the exit.
She held onto him tightly and pulled up an app on her phone with her free hand. “I’m ordering you an Alphabet car to take you home.”
“No, I hate the automated shit,” he spat as he talked. “They’re taking jobs away from cabbies and bus drivers. It ain’t right.”
“Shut-up, Jason.”
By the time they made it through the entrance gate, a car was waiting to take his belligerent, drunk ass home. Since it was all automated, he wouldn’t be able to annoy another human being. Maybe it was for the best, after all. The logistics of getting all of his uncoordinated self inside the vehicle proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated. Once he was safely inside, he gave the car the go-ahead to take him home.
Jason watched Marianna slowly disappear through the window, and noted a tear sliding down her cheek.
She doesn’t deserve this.
***
Terry stretched his arms over his head and rolled his neck—another boring shift almost in the books. The around-the-clock smart dust surveillance had started a month ago, when Jason started to cause a stink online. The dust—an innovation in nano technology—had revolutionized the spy world. Tiny computers the size of dust particles were now everywhere, monitoring everything and anything a person could imagine.
The poor sap has no idea how many eyes and ears are on him at any given time.
Since Jason made the announcement about the true crime Syndicate book, the watcher’s boss wanted to keep tabs on Jason and those around him.
Terry had been on the surveillance team for over a week, already sucked into the drama of it like some soap opera. He watched in interest as the whole drunken scene unfolded between the sorry son of a bitch and his girl in blue.
His shift was almost over, so he jotted down some notes and sent it off to the boss. He and a few other men that monitored the surveillance all felt that Ms. Habertone’s chihuahua, Millie, was more of a threat than Jason Knettle.
***
Charles MacAvoy’s Home
Danville, Virginia
June 15, 2025
8:00 PM
~~~
Charles sat back in the leather chair in his home office and wiped his hands over his tired face. Being a millionaire business mogul still required work—a lot of work. The markets were closed now and he’d finished answering all the emails requiring his immediate attention. In the dark, he pulled a worn photo of a young red-haired woman from the middle drawer of his desk—a photo of his ex-wife.
Today had been her funeral. The two years left on his house arrest sentence meant he couldn’t attend—couldn’t give his final respects. The crew that had filmed the ceremony this afternoon emailed him the file into his Dropbox, but work had prevented him from looking at it until now. Now, though he had the time, he couldn’t muster the courage to open it.
From his mansion on the hill, he could pretend she was still down there living a full and happy life. When her security team—the one he’d hired over seventeen years ago to watch over her— sent him their final invoice that morning, her death had finally become real.
***
Coat ‘n’ Thai Restaurant
Richmond, Virginia
June 15, 2025
11:00 PM
~~~
Chris’s heart hammered in his chest as he thought about being with his ex-wife again after so many years apart. After losing his mother and reuniting with his ex-wife, all in the span of two days, he felt as if he were on an out-of-control rollercoaster. As disorienting as the week had been, he was certain about one thing: he wanted to kiss his former bride again and again and again.
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes held a flirtatious twinkle. When his foot accidentally brushed against hers under the table, her hooded eyes rose to meet his, and she smiled.
He melted when she bit her bottom lip and looked away. He knew that look! A rush of confidence shot through him as he signaled for the check and settled the bill in record time.
“Take me home, Chris.” Ellie looked up at him through her downturned lashes.
His stomach flip-flopped in anticipation. Emboldened by her request, he reached for her hand as they stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool, summer night air.
He tugged her by the arm down an alleyway—a shortcut—toward the funeral home where his car was parked.
His patience ran out about halfway to the car and he pivoted on his heel to face her. Sandwiching her between himself and the cool brick of the building, his breaths became shallow.
She trembled. Her chin tipped up and she parted her lips for him.
When he kissed her, she moaned into his open mouth—driving him crazy. He held both her wrists up above her as his body molded to hers, until at last, breathless, he broke the kiss. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Her saucy tone was nearly his undoing.
“I remember this.” He rested his forehead against hers and nuzzled their noses together. Touching her was like coming home. “Ellie....” There was so much he wanted to tell her, to do to her.
“Take me home,” she said.
He took her by the hand and walked with purpose down the street to their cars. They laughed a little when discovering they were parked beside each other.
Kismet.
The universe seemed to be conspiring to bring them back together, and who were they to argue with the universe?
***
Richmond Police Department, First Precinct
Richmond, Virginia
June 15, 2025
11:00 PM
~~~
Marianna rubbed her sore eyes. She had read and reread the notes from the officer on scene at least a dozen times. Each time she came away with more questions than answers, but a hunch formed in her mind.
What happened to everyone else involved in The Syndicate trial? Was this murder related to Timothy Mitchel’s part in The Syndicate, or was it merely a coincidence that he was robbed and shot in the head the night before his daughter’s funeral?<
br />
She opened up a fresh page to start taking notes on the whereabouts of the key figures in the seventeen-year-old trial, and settled in at her desk with a cup of coffee, prepared to work all night.
***
Manny Richards’s Brownstone
Alexandria, Virginia
June 15, 2025
11:30 PM
~~~
Manny sat in his worn La-Z-Boy watching the evening news. As he prepared to shut it off, a report caught his eye—a murder in the Slip. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he watched it anyway.
His former job as Section Chief of the FBI still haunted him when he watched the news. Six months out of the Bureau, and still he analyzed news stories on murders, kidnappings, and organized crimes. This time, the beautiful woman on the screen caught his attention. He knew her—a detective with the first precinct in Richmond—but couldn’t remember exactly how he knew her, or her name.
As the camera panned the crime scene, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The footage triggered something inside him.
Why are the garbage cans lined up like that? No, no... I’m done with all that.
He let out a loud sigh and shut off the screen.
Maybe I’ll remember in the morning. Maybe I’m just tired.
He climbed the stairs to his bedroom and crawled into bed next to his wife. Her warm body relaxed him and he forgot all about the report, falling fast asleep.
CHAPTER 2
MDNA Headquarters
Unknown Location
June 16, 2025
12:00 AM
~~~
“Ash, are you done yet with that algorithm?” Sally took a sip of her hot coffee even though it tasted like motor oil from her brother’s shop.
Ash shrugged, not taking his eyes off the computer screen. “The packet’s almost finished.”
“How much longer is it gonna take? We need to act sooner rather than later.” She nibbled on her thumbnail—tired of waiting.
Ash spun in his chair to face her. “It’ll be done when it’s done.” He pushed off his knees and stalked out of the room—mumbling on his way out, “I’m going out for some air.”