Chaser (Jinx Ballou Bounty Hunter Book 1)

by Dharma Kelleher

  My jaw dropped. I felt as if I’d walked into a cross between Buckingham Palace and a neo-Gothic cathedral. The place shimmered with gold. Towering columns rose forty feet from the marble floors to support the elaborate vaulted ceiling, lit with crystal chandeliers the size of my truck.

  A grand staircase flowed from the second floor, spreading out at the bottom like a river delta. Twenty-foot-tall Art Deco paintings depicting the Phoenix of yesteryear hung from the walls above arched doorways. In the center of it all was a lounge area decorated with luxurious rugs and couches. People from all corners of the globe milled about, speaking languages I could only guess at.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, is this Arizona or Renaissance Italy?” I whispered as I followed Conor, trying not to gawk like a tourist. “Where’s the concierge?”

  “Follow me.”

  To the left of the sprawling mahogany registration desk, a guy in his midtwenties stood behind a podium with a Mac laptop. He was dressed in a burgundy suit and wore his hair in the pompadour Conor had mentioned.

  He looked up with a smug smile, which soured as soon as he saw Conor. “How may I—oh no. Not you.”

  “Jinxie,” Conor said, “meet my buddy Ricky, the concierge. Ricky, old boy, this here’s my gal, Jinxie.”

  “No offense, Ms. Jinxie, but I am here to serve our guests.” He glared at Conor. “Not scruffy ruffians. Do I need to call security?”

  Conor put his arm around the concierge’s shoulder. “Ricky here helps the Harrington’s guests access all sorts of hard-to-acquire items. Tickets to sold-out Suns games, guest passes to TPC, reservations for a chef’s table at the hottest restaurants. You want it, this bloke’ll get it for ya. For a price, of course.”

  Ricky signaled to a wall of muscle dressed in black standing on the other side of the registration desk. He ambled toward us, his thick arms ready at his side.

  Conor continued, paying no attention to the approaching man in black. “Our boy here also helps his clients satisfy their dodgier appetites. Drugs. Dog fights. Prostitution. S&M. Every sort of kink ya can imagine.”

  “Uh, Conor . . .” I pointed toward the security guard, who cracked his knuckles as he drew closer.

  Conor beamed. “Ricky likes to indulge a bit too. I’ve got some lovely videos of him with the governor’s granddaughter. What was her name, old boy?”

  Ricky went rigid, his face coloring, his eyes locked on Conor. The concierge waved off the security guard, who returned to his post by the front desk. “What the hell you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “We’re looking for a girl,” I said.

  “Hungry for a little threesome action, are we?”

  “Not exactly.” I held up a photo of Holly. “We’re looking for this girl—Holly Schwartz.”

  Ricky cocked an eyebrow. “I know her. Why are you . . . oh, wait a minute, she’s been in the news lately. Something about her mother getting murdered. Très sad.” He gave a mocking pouty face, making his bottom lip look very punchable. I resisted. Barely.

  “She’s also missing,” I said. “Most likely kidnapped by a human smuggler named Volkov.”

  Ricky shrugged with a disinterested look. “I know nothing of such things.”

  Conor slammed the laptop shut, almost catching the concierge’s fingers in it. “Cara! That’s Governor Denton’s granddaughter’s name, isn’t it? She’s a cutie, though a bit young even for you, Ricky boy. And unless ya help us out, I’m sending our madame governor a video file of the two of you.”

  “For your information, it was consensual.”

  “Bullshite. The girl’s fifteen, ya little wanker. You’re what? Thirty?”

  “Twenty-seven. Ish.” Ricky’s left eye twitched. “I really hate you.”

  “Coming from a gobshite like yourself, I’ll take that as a compliment. Where’s Volkov keep the girls?”

  “If I tell you, Volkov’ll kill me.”

  I flicked open a black-bladed knife and leaned into the little maggot, pressing the tip of the blade into the belly of his heavily starched shirt. “How long you think you’ll live when I eviscerate you? Intestines dumping onto the floor, blood and fecal matter all over your pretty white shirt? My guess is ten minutes, maybe twenty. The whole time, you’ll be screaming in agony, knowing no one can save you. Conor, you want to time him?”

  “All right, all right! Jesus!” He cowered, his eyes tightly shut, trembling like an overbred Yorkie in a thunderstorm. “I-I’ll tell you.”

  “You got five seconds, or I start cutting.”

  “Th-There’s a warehouse. West of Buckeye. Not far from Arlington.”

  “Address!”

  “It’s . . . it’s in my laptop.” He opened the Mac and brought up an address on Old US Highway 80.

  Conor patted him on the back. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Ricky boy?”

  “What about Holly Schwartz?” I pressed the tip of my knife harder. “Does he have her?”

  Ricky winced. “The crippled girl?”

  “Disabled,” I corrected.

  “There was a girl like that. Don’t know if it was Holly.” He swallowed hard. “But that was weeks ago. Volkov likes to move his girls around. Doesn’t want ’em too comfortable.”

  “Let’s hope for your sake he’s still got her.” I put away my knife and marched back toward the elevator.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ricky cried. “Hey! Conor, what’s she talking about?”

  Conor caught up with me as I punched the down button between the two elevators. “Ya know, you’re quite scary sometimes.”

  “People like him make me sick,” I muttered, staring at the lit button. “I should have gutted him.”

  “If ya had, we couldn’t go rescue Holly, now could we?” He put an arm on my shoulder. “By the way, if we’re planning on stormin’ the castle, we’ll need some serious backup. Unfortunately, Deez and the boys are up in Salt Lake, chasing down a fugitive.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” I pulled out my phone and hit a number on speed dial. On the third ring, I heard a familiar voice ask who was calling. “Rodeo, it’s Jinx.”

  “Hey, Jinxie. How’s it hanging? Oh, sorry. Was that inappropriate considering you’re, uh, you know?”

  “Oh good lord. Get over yourself.” I sighed. “Listen, Conor and I need some support. You available?”

  “I told you, Big Bobby won’t allow me to work with you.”

  “Don’t be such a pussy! Come on. We need you.” The arrow on the antique floor indicator above the nearest elevator began dropping from fifteen. I doubted I’d get much signal once we stepped in the elevator. “We’re hitting a Volkov warehouse to rescue Holly Schwartz.”

  “Wait, did you say Volkov? As in Milo Volkov?”

  “You heard of him?”

  “Only from reports of the mutilated bodies left in his wake. That’s a whole lot of heat I don’t need. I’ll pass on this one.”

  “You chickening out, Rodeo?”

  “Last time someone crossed Volkov, the guy’s remains were scattered on top of Camelback Mountain.”

  “Volkov cremated him?”

  “No, ran him through a wood chipper.”

  I cringed. But I was committed to saving this girl, especially since no one but her aunt seemed to give a shit. “Did I mention the bounty is fifty grand?”

  “And how much of that can I spend when I’m dead? Not interested, Jinxie.”

  “Come on, Rodeo, think what this girl must be going through. What if it was your daughter?”

  “But it’s not. And I won’t be much of a father if I’ve been ground into raw hamburger,” he said firmly. “Good luck, Jinx. Try not to get yourself killed. I really like you.” He hung up.

  “Crap.” I turned to Conor as the elevator door opened. “Rodeo’s out.”

  “Smart man.”

  I gave him a sideways look while we rode down to our level in the parking garage. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

 
; “Naw, but ya can’t blame a bloke for not wanting to go up against a Chechen gangster.”

  “Suppose not. But I’m not giving up on this girl. I can’t.”

  “I understand.”

  “Who else can we call?”

  “Maybe it’s better with just the two of us. Going in all guns blazing isn’t the best strategy.”

  “So how we getting in?” The elevator door opened, and we stepped into the parking garage.

  “I have an idea. You probably won’t like it, though.”

  He explained his strategy. He was right. I didn’t like it.

  “That’s your plan?” My voice echoed off the concrete walls and floor. “Are you fucking insane?”

  “Ya got any better ideas, love?”

  “Not at the moment, but I’m sure as hell not doing that.” We climbed into the Gray Ghost. “Let’s stop at your place, arm up, and see what we’re up against.”

  21

  The Gray Ghost’s dashboard read eight o’clock when I pulled off the road a half mile from a fenced-in warehouse belonging to Eden Produce. Farmland stretched out in all directions, illuminated by silver moonlight. From the driver’s seat, I stared at the front gate through a pair of binoculars.

  The fifteen-foot chain-link fence was topped with razor wire. Inside the fence were parked two semis bearing the Eden Produce logo. It looked like one of dozens of produce warehouses in the area except for the armed guard manning the front gate.

  “Guard at the gate’s carrying an AK-47,” I said. “No one along the fence as far as I can see.” My phone rang. I checked the caller ID, saw it was my mom, and sent it to voicemail. I needed to focus on the task at hand.

  Conor looked through his own binoculars. “Surveillance cameras along the fence and all visible points of entry into the warehouse.”

  “So I guess this is the place, huh?” I asked.

  “Unless kale’s gotten so pricey you need armed guards to keep out the crazed vegetarians, I’d say we’re in the right spot.”

  “How many more inside, I wonder?”

  “Crazed vegetarians?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Armed guards, smart-ass.”

  “No way of knowing. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “I’m not giving up on this girl,” I said.

  “Darlin’, it’s not worth getting yourself killed. Not even for fifty grand.”

  “It’s not about the money anymore. This kid’s been either sick or abused her whole life, confined to a wheelchair. Her mother’s been murdered. And now this? I don’t care if I don’t see a dime. I’m not abandoning her to a life as one of Volkov’s sex slaves.”

  “And how ya propose we get past these blokes?”

  “I guess we go with your plan,” I said, although thinking about it made me nervous.

  He shook his head. “I withdraw my suggested plan. Too risky.”

  “How else will we get in there?”

  “It’s not getting in I’m worried about. It’s getting out.”

  “Since when have you backed down from a challenge?”

  “This isn’t a challenge, Jinxie. It’s bloody suicide. I won’t do it.”

  “Fine, I’ll do this myself.” I pulled off my ballistic vest and began mussing my hair. When I looked sufficiently feral, I hopped out of the truck and rubbed dirt on my face, clothes, and through my hair.

  Conor sighed. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, woman. You can’t do this by yourself. Won’t work.”

  “Then work with me.” I locked my gaze on him.

  He walked up to me and cupped my face in his hand. “You’re daft, ya know that? Completely mental.”

  “Aw, you say the nicest things.” I forced a smile, even though my insides shook like Jell-O. I knew he was right. This whole thing was stupid. But I was sick of people telling me what I couldn’t do, and pissed off at everyone turning a blind eye to the shit going on inside that warehouse.

  “So your mind’s made up, eh?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Then let’s get on with this bloody nonsense.” He lifted the back hatch of the Gray Ghost, pulled a Bushmaster M4A3 Carbine out of its case, and popped in a curved thirty-round magazine.

  I tossed my tactical belt in the truck and stuffed the Ruger in the front of my waistband. My revolver was still in the ankle holster. I used my knife to cut a pair of zip tie cuffs in half, then slipped a cuff on each wrist. With the closed knife concealed in my right palm, I held my wrists together in front of me, giving the illusion I was restrained.

  I looked up at Conor with my most defeated expression. Eyes lifeless. Shoulders slumped. “Convincing enough?”

  He turned and cocked his head, studying me. “Hands should be behind your back.”

  I moved the Ruger to the small of my back and held my hands behind me, hoping the slower draw time on the Ruger wouldn’t cost me my life. “Okay, how about now?”

  I saw him shudder, though he tried to hide it. “I really don’t like this.”

  “Why? You’re the one with the assault rifle.”

  “Not me I’m worried about.”

  “I can take care of myself, big boy,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

  We climbed back into the Gray Ghost with Conor in the driver’s seat.

  22

  Conor pulled up to the gate. The guard shuffled over. “What the hell you want?”

  “Caught this one trying to escape from one of the other drop houses,” Conor said in his best American accent. “Boss man told me to bring her here.”

  “No one told me nothing.”

  Conor shrugged. “Don’t believe me? Call Mr. Volkov, though I’m told he’s wining and dining some bigwig Arab clients.” He pronounced it “Ay-rab,” and it was all I could do not to laugh. “I wouldn’t disturb ’em if I was you.”

  “Please don’t do this,” I pleaded, playing the part. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Shut the hell up!” Conor slammed me across the face hard enough to make me see stars. I tasted blood.

  Conor’s unexpected punch triggered long-forgotten memories. The trauma of getting pounded into a bloody pulp at my high school graduation party surfaced. Images flashed through my mind of a huge man driving his mallet-sized fists into my body, the antiseptic smell of a hospital, and the incessant beeping of a vitals monitor.

  I’d been hit countless times in my work and always shook it off. Why the hell is this any different? I sobbed and hung my head in defeat. Part of the act, I told myself.

  “Yeah, all right. I’ll radio Perkins in the warehouse to have someone escort her inside.” The guard reached for his radio.

  “No can do, mate.” Conor’s American accent was slipping.

  My gut twisted. Don’t blow it, dude, I thought.

  “I have orders to escort her all the way in personally,” Conor said. “It’s my arse if she gets away again.”

  The guard narrowed his gaze at Conor, then grunted his approval and waved us on. “Pull around back to the loading dock. Sanchez’ll show you where to go.”

  “Thanks!” Conor drove through.

  I took a deep breath, getting control of my emotions. One step closer to rescuing Holly.

  “You okay, love?” There was concern in his voice. “Aw, shite! Your lip’s bleedin’.”

  “I’m all right.” My grip tightened on the folded jackknife behind my back. “We’re committed now. Just stick to the plan.”

  He drove around the warehouse to a large concrete loading dock with a staircase on the side. A dark-skinned man guarded the back door. Sanchez, no doubt.

  Conor climbed out. Sanchez raised his rifle and pointed it at Conor.

  “Whoa! The guy at the gate told me to bring this one around back. Clever girl snuck out of one of the other drop houses.” Conor walked around and opened my door and roughly dragged me out of the truck. I kept my eyes on the ground.

  “Yeah, okay. Bring her up,” Sanchez replied.

  Conor poked me i
n the back with his Bushmaster. “Move, cunt!”

  I trudged up the stairs to where Sanchez was standing. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and cupped my chin, turning my face this way and that. “What happened to this puta’s face?”

  “Put up a bit of a fight when we caught her.”

  “You think you smart, puta?” Sanchez licked his lips. “Not so smart now, eh?” He grabbed my right breast and twisted hard enough to make me gasp. My grip on my knife tightened as I resisted the urge to fight back.

  “Easy, mate.” Conor pushed himself between us. “Let’s not damage the merchandise any more than necessary.”

  “Fuck you, maricon!” Sanchez shoved Conor aside and grabbed my shirt collar. His breath smelled of spiced meat and tequila.

  When he reached for my crotch, I flicked open my blade and lunged at Sanchez. He grabbed my arm, and we grappled until he kicked me away, sending me teetering off the edge of the platform and landing on my butt five feet below. I vaulted back onto the platform, knife still in hand.

  Conor had Sanchez in a choke hold, but the guard broke free with an elbow to Conor’s midsection. Sanchez picked up Conor’s rifle and was about to shoot when I drove my knife into his carotid. Warm blood sprayed all over me, the wall, and the ground. He collapsed on the platform. A moment later he was still.

  My heart raced as I looked around to see if anyone else had heard the scuffle. We appeared to be alone for the moment. Score one for the good guys.

  Conor eyed me suspiciously. “You okay, love?”

  “More than okay.” I wiped my face on my shirt and caught myself grinning. “Okay, folks, let’s see what’s behind door number two.”

  I stashed my knife in my pocket and pulled out the Ruger. Conor opened the door, and I followed him in. The interior was dark and chilly, with rows and rows of twenty-foot-high shelving stocked with boxes of produce on pallets. Two forklifts sat idle in a corner.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  Conor pointed his rifle down the aisle along the left wall. “Let’s try that way.”

  With my finger on the trigger, I led the way past the stacks of produce. At the other end of the row stood a large caged area filled with people. I caught a whiff of body odor and urine.