Jake Hancock Private Investigator mystery series box set (Books 1-4)

by Dan Taylor

  It catches him square on the eyebrow, causing Cole to stagger back. Dmitry delivers a follow-up blow, right in his ear, which gives the American momentary vertigo. He staggers around, trying to steady himself on the console, but fails. His head’s spinning, and he has no idea where Dmitry is.

  He grasps out, finds the big red dome light on top of the console. To his surprise, it pushes in, as though it’s a button.

  It makes a loud honking sound, like an out-of-tune trumpet, and Cole thinks, So, that’s what it sounds like, before he feels the crack of Dmitry’s empty vodka bottle on the crown of his head.

  Everything goes black.

  When Cole comes to, he no longer has to feel embarrassed about being in his Speedo. He has an entirely new garment to feel embarrassed about. He looks down, finds a giant diaper wrapped around his ass. The old school kind, made of cloth and secured with a giant, almost prop-like safety pin.

  His hands are tied behind his back, and his ankles are tied together. In his mouth is a pacifier, though to his amazement, it isn’t duct taped in place. He spits it out with ease.

  Sitting at the workstation is Dmitry. He turns around upon hearing the pacifier hit the floor.

  Dmitry says, “So, you’re awake, American.”

  “No shit. And why am I dressed up like a fucking baby?”

  “Because you are a baby.”

  Assuming the conversation is finished, Dmitry turns back to the console and picks up a pack of that nasty Russian snack, starts grazing on them.

  Cole realizes something. “Did you undress me, you sick fuck?”

  Dmitry snorts. “You didn’t have much on, American, in the first place.”

  Cole becomes petty. It could be the effect of wearing a diaper as a grown-ass man. “Wow, your syntax sucks.”

  Dmitry turns to him. “My syn what?”

  “And your vocabulary.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be concerned with my English language skills, but by how you’re going to get out of this—how do you say?—pickle.”

  Cole nods in begrudging approval of Dmitry’s correct use of a subjunctive, but then snaps out of it. Says to himself, “Why am I critiquing this man’s grammar?”

  Dmitry overhears. “That’s what I just asked you.”

  “Never mind. So exactly what is the pickle I’m in, Dmitry?”

  Dmitry points at the diaper, as though it explains it all.

  “I can see that, you dumb fuck. I’m wearing a diaper, but what does it mean for my future?”

  “It means you have no need to use my septic tank anytime soon.” This amuses Dmitry, who slaps his knee in self-praise of his joke.

  “Speaking of your septic tank, I saw the bones in there.”

  It doesn’t have the effect Cole wanted and expected. That of throwing the Russian’s confidence. It amuses Dmitry, in fact—or at least appears to.

  “You were supposed to find them. That’s why I kept dropping hints.”

  “You wanted me to find the German’s bones?”

  “The German is safe and sound at home with his family. Eating sour—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “What? I was going to say, ‘…eating sourly as his wife probably chews his ear off.’ What did you think I was going to say?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Before you knocked me out—thanks for the cheap shot, by the way—you were going to tell me what this is all about. Remember?”

  “Oh yes. The bag out of the cat…”

  Cole bites his tongue this time. “Yeah.”

  “So, do you really want to know what the observation station is really for…really?”

  “There’s no need to build tension, Dmitry. It’s just you and me here.”

  “Okay. It’s very simple, American. The observation station doesn’t observe what is outside, but what is within.”

  Cole rolls his eyes. “Oh great, a cryptic answer.”

  “It’s not cryptic, American. Think about it.”

  Cole ponders Dmitry’s awareness of the word cryptic coupled with his jarring lack of awareness of the word syntax, but then comes to his senses. He does think about what it means. And comes to the only conclusion he can come to. “So it’s me who’s being observed?”

  Dmitry’s eyes light up, and in the creepiest voice possible, he says, “Bingo!”

  “So what, I’m part of a science experiment?”

  “You were part of that science experiment. Now you’re part of a new one.”

  “Wait. You’re going too fast. What was the original experiment?”

  “It was psychological in nature. Testing various methods for alleviating what you would call cabin fever. The Russian military has soaring rates of suicide among its submariners. They’re interested in how they can decrease this. And I have been tasked with finding out.”

  Cole looks down at his diaper. “Well you can cross knocking the sailor out and dressing him up as a baby off your list, pal.”

  Dmitry laughs. “Oh, that experiment is over, American. Long over.”

  “So why am I dressed like this?”

  “As I said, you’re part of a new experiment: finding out the effects of prolonged diaper wearing on a grown-ass American male.”

  “Sounds like you just made that up.”

  Dmitry doesn’t respond, just throws one of those weird Russian snacks at Cole, hitting him square on the forehead.

  Cole sighs, and starts to get his head around the situation he is now in. As he does, Dmitry starts turning knobs on the console, tapping dials, and generally busying himself with it. If this is some sort of psychological experiment, then what is that console he’s playing with? And what’s it for?

  He looks down at the base of it, looking for a wire leading to a socket, but finds nothing. It’s a prop!

  Something dawns on Cole. Dmitry probably did start out as a scientist hired by the Russian military to find ways of reducing suicide rates on their subs, but now he’s a madman, brought about by spending too long in this observation station. A victim of cabin fever, himself.

  A snack-eating, diaper-owning Russian lunatic. Pacifier-owning, too.

  Cole asks, “So how did the bones in the septic tank fit into the whole experiment?”

  “Don’t disturb me while I’m working.”

  Cole tries to stay silent, but fails. “Come on, at least tell me that.”

  “That was me just fooling around. They’re seal bones. I got tired of just finding out the effects of pornography, alcohol consumption, and masturbation frequency on a subject’s tolerance for cabin fever. So I just fucked around a little.”

  “Okaayy…And why are we in Antarctica? This confined space could be anywhere.”

  “That was to trick the subject into thinking he’s part of some team monitoring the melting of the polar ice caps or some shit.” He laughs. “I may have even started to believe that a little myself.”

  “No shit.”

  Dmitry smiles. “Which reminds me. When it’s time to go, feel free to do it in your diaper.”

  “I will not. I’m a grown man, with a wife and kids. I have a permanent life insurance policy for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. It would only be practical. You won’t be using the bathroom. And I won’t be letting you outside.”

  “Who’s going to…?” Cole grimaces, then continues, “Who’s going to change me?” He starts to sob.

  “Don’t cry, American. You’ll be changing yourself.”

  Between sobs, Cole says, “Do I at least get Wet Wipes?”

  “What are those?”

  “They’re wipes that are wet. Wet Wipes.”

  “I’ll have a think about whether I’m going to give you toilet paper to soak it up. Now shut the fuck up. I have important work to do.”

  Cole does shut the fuck up, and for a long period. He thinks of many things while he sits. Did this lunatic kill a seal himself, or did he find a dead one? What does Dmitry intend to do with
him, torture him, kill him? And how long ago did he last go two?

  He remains silent until what he thinks might be wind turns out to be more. “Oh shit! Here it comes.”

  Dmitry turns and looks at Cole. “Just let it flow, American.”

  “Stop calling me American. I’m Canadian!”

  A creepy, knowing smile develops on Dmitry’s face. “Now we both know that’s not true, Cole.”

  “Cole?”

  “That is not your name, isn’t it not?”

  “Wait. Are you saying it is my name or not?”

  “It is your name. I know it.”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “You mentioned before you have a wife and kids.”

  “And what have they got to do with anything?”

  “You have made some curious decisions for a man with such responsibilities.”

  Cole thinks a second. “What? Do you mean Bertha?”

  Dmitry’s eyebrows narrow. “The recruitment agent I hired to find subjects? No…wait, have you been a bad boy again?” Dmitry laughs. “This is too much. You’re killing me.”

  Cole thinks for another second. “Again? I haven’t…oh wait, you mean—”

  “That’s right.”

  A sole word occupies Cole’s thoughts: Fuck!

  43.

  Oslo…

  COLE’S GOTTEN TO THE point in the story where he reveals what, exactly? But now he’s sobbing like a baby and unable to continue.

  I try to steer him back on course. “Cole, buddy, what is it that was the ‘curious decision’?” I think a second. “And why the hell did you tell me about the diaper stuff. Why not just gloss over that, say that he held you captive under not-super-weird circumstances?”

  He looks up, wipes snot from his nose. I’m still kneeling by the side of him, by the way. My knees are killing me.

  Then he says, “Because I wanted to tell it all! The whole big mess.”

  “But really, the diaper stuff?”

  He looks at me angrily. “I needed to tell someone, okay?”

  “Okay, buddy. Whatever you say. So, what did you do?”

  “I’ve been a bad man, Jake. I’ve treated my wife with little-to-no respect, and my kids…” This brings on another sobbing fit.

  I go to put my arm around him, then stop an inch from making contact with his shoulders. I turn it into a nose scratch.

  “Come on, buddy. I bet it’s not that bad.”

  “Stop calling me buddy!”

  “Okay, Cole. Whatever I have to say to make you continue. I’m on the edge of my seat here.” I look behind me. “I do hope Bertha gets back with the beers soon. This is getting good.”

  “You insensitive jerk. Is that all you care about, entertainment?”

  I straighten my shirt collar. “No, I’m here in an official capacity. But you gotta admit, if the situation was reversed and I was going to tell you something huge…wait, it is huge, right?”

  He nods, tears bulging in his sad eyes.

  “Oh shit. Come on, Cole, what is it you did?”

  “I had an affair. And for months.”

  “Is that it? I was thinking murder, at least rape. You’re doing that now, but with Bertha. Seems like you’re getting used to it.”

  “It’s not like it was with the other woman. Bertha and I are just screwing around before we go our separate ways.”

  “That’s not how she sees it. I think she thinks you’re an item.”

  He panics. “What makes you think that?”

  “She thinks you’re looking for a job.”

  He grabs my straightened shirt collar. “What did she say to make you think that?”

  “She said just that.”

  He lets me go and starts running his fingers through his hair. “Oh fuck! How could she think that?”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy. No woman’s ever thought I was job hunting to stay with her.”

  Cole’s racking his brain. “What did I say to her to make her think this?”

  “She said that you said you were struggling to find a job because you don’t know the language.”

  “What? I never said that.” He thinks a second. “Shit, I think I might’ve, on accident.”

  “How do you accidentally say that?”

  “I said it while we were having sex.”

  Now that would be the weirdest thing I’d ever heard, if not for the sex I just had with Bertha. Yep, she’s a talker, all right.

  “Looks like you’re in a bit of a mess here, Cole.”

  “Not as big a mess as I’m in back home.”

  “Why? You just end the affair and move on with your life.”

  “Don’t you get it, you dumb ass? It’s not as simple as that. Most other people would’ve worked out that my being held captive in Antarctica and this affair are linked.”

  “Huh, what do you know? I didn’t work that out.”

  “No…no, you didn’t.”

  “So explain it to me like I’m a child with learning difficulties. What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s not the affair, per se, though I do feel a shit about that. It’s who I had an affair with and the consequences of it.”

  I lean in. “Cole, who was it?”

  44.

  GERRY SMOULDERWELL ARRIVES at Greasy Fingers Diner convinced she hasn’t been followed.

  She sits down at her regular table, places a briefcase on the seat next to her, and her regular waitress, Grace, comes running over. It pays to be a bitch in this world.

  “What would you like, ma’am?”

  The word sounds alien coming out of this dumb waitress’s mouth. But Gerry doesn’t let on. She just smiles and then says, “Espresso and a fruit salad.”

  The waitress jots it down and scurries off.

  Gerry takes out her LA Times, starts leafing through it as Grace has her regular conversation with the chef about the fruit salad, which isn’t technically on the menu.

  After a couple minutes, Grace comes over with Gerry’s espresso. It’s served in a large cup, and isn’t anything more than an extra-strong filter coffee. Gerry thanks the waitress in her bitchy way, and waits for her to scurry off again before taking a sip.

  Like the place in general, she doesn’t like the coffee. And she’s expecting the same standard with the fruit salad—the fruit bruised and beaten up, sliced by a dull blade, mostly made up of apple and orange, the odd bit of “exotic” fruit thrown in there for decoration.

  If she were to scrutinize the diner in the same way—though this time she won’t—she’d note the greasy floors, the bent menus, the unhygienic chef, the gum-chewing waitresses, the filthy cash register, the even filthier dish cloths the waitresses use to wipe down the tables, and a weird smell that catches her nose once in a while—like a pair of sweaty gym socks that have matured in a holdall for two or three days.

  Today she’s ignoring these things. The diner isn’t to her taste and doesn’t meet the standards she expects from places she regularly dines in.

  But it excels in one area, its location. It’s well away from Hollywood. A short drive away from where Los Feliz Boulevard meets the Golden State Freeway. She hadn’t chosen the place all those months ago when she’d met Cole Baxter for the first time. She would’ve chosen some place in Hollywood. One of her regular haunts, as she wasn’t hiding anything. But Cole was, and he’d insisted on it. From here it’s just a short drive to a Motel 6 off the freeway. Again, this had been Cole’s choice. They had gone there that very evening, after sipping coffee silently.

  In the beginning it was all about the sex. Wild, crazy, driving-the-guy-in-the-next-motel-room-insane sex. Cole met her needs in that department. He wasn’t much of a talker, and always looked nervous when they dined here, as though his wife or one of her friends would come in at any moment and he’d have to slink off to the bathroom and wait there until she left. As time went on, she started to develop feelings for Cole that went beyond just wanting to handcuff him to a rickety bed and fuc
k his brains out. She started to feel…feelings, which she didn’t like. She started to wish that Cole’s wife would find out somehow. And in her weakest moments, even imagined Cole and her shacking up together. Going to nice restaurants in Hollywood. Acting like a real couple.

  One evening, after ensuring that Cole would be walking gingerly the next day, she sat down on the bed to which Cole was still handcuffed and said, “What do you think about a weekend away together?”

  She didn’t look at Cole, but she could sense his hesitance. He didn’t reply, but she carried on regardless. “Maybe rent a cabin by Big Bear Lake. Bring a few bottles of champagne, light a fire and fuck by the side of it.”

  “I don’t know, Gerry. Which weekend are you thinking of?”

  She was facing away from Cole, so allowed herself to cringe before she said, “Any weekend that’s good for you.”

  “Mm, a whole weekend might be difficult to swing. The girls are getting older and play sports most weekends, and you just know that Connie’s quite insistent on my going to watch them play.”

  “Oh. I suppose it was stupid of me to ask.”

  “No, it’s just…”

  “Difficult?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I understand.”

  Gerry did not understand. Sure, she understood that getting away from his bitch soccer mom wife was difficult. But he could’ve said that he would at least try. She hadn’t even gotten that from him.

  She turned to him. “This thing between us, is it just about sex?”

  Cole looked down at his naked body, bite marks on both nipples, his wrists still handcuffed to the bed, and welts on his stomach from where Gerry had whipped him. And then he said, “No, of course not! What would make you think that?”

  “Because all we ever do when we meet is fuck. We’ve never been on a proper date. And you wouldn’t even try to make the weekend away happen.”

  Cole suddenly looked nervous about being still handcuffed to the bed. “To be fair, you made the cabin thing sound like a dirty weekend away.”

  “And that made you reluctant?”

  “No, just that I thought that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do, is fuck. Isn’t it?”

  “In the beginning, maybe.”

  “Tell you what, Gerry. Go over there and get the key and unlock the handcuffs, and then we can go and talk about it—”