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

by Dan Taylor

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “And you shouldn’t make that decision until you’ve weighed all the facts. Bros should stick together, Dmitry. It’s kind of a code.”

  “Is it okay if I take some time to—how do you say—weigh the facts?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

  Dmitry sits at the console, rotating in his chair as he sticks his tongue out a little, his mind ticking over. After a few minutes of this, he goes over to the bunk bed and pulls out his nasty Russian porno magazine. He sits back down and starts to flick through it.

  He reaches his decision not long after, stands up, and points a finger at Cole. “It is you who lied, American!”

  “Now hold on. You shouldn’t make this decision while you have an erection. You’re not thinking straight.”

  Dmitry rushes over to Cole and stands him up. “I should’ve never listened to you.” He starts to push Cole towards the door.

  “Wait! The feces will freeze in seconds. Remember you told me that? I’ll never be able to get it off.”

  “I do not care.”

  “Stop! I’ll freeze to death in minutes dressed like this.”

  “Then that is your fate.”

  Dmitry opens the door with one hand as he holds Cole with the other. The cold air rushes in, bringing with it swirling snowflakes. Just as Cole’s about to be flung through the door, he makes a last-ditch attempt to stop Dmitry. “Polar bears!”

  Dmitry stops. “What did you say?”

  “Polar bears. I saw one when I went outside yesterday!”

  Dmitry thinks a second. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

  “I was selfish. I wanted to keep the information to myself. Plus, I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Why would it worry me?”

  “Because he looked like he was setting up camp right outside of the observation station. He was building an igloo.”

  Dmitry laughs. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Okay, I lied about the igloo part. But the rest is true.”

  Dmitry thinks a second. “So a polar bear is setting up camp outside the observation station?”

  “Yeah, a really big one.”

  “Good! Then that is how you will die. Eaten by a polar bear in Antarctica.”

  Dmitry tries to push Cole outside again. But once more Cole makes a last-ditch attempt to stop the Russian. “Stop! The last thing you want is a polar bear that has developed a taste for human flesh waiting outside!”

  Dmitry stops pushing. “And why would I not want that?”

  “Because who do you think is next after he’s gotten hungry again?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. There’s probably not another human for hundreds of miles. And you know what they say?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Once a polar bear tastes human flesh, there’s no way it goes back to eating…” Cole thinks fast: “Seals and fish.”

  “Who says this?”

  “Scientists. But not like you. Polar bear scientists.”

  “Huh, I did not know this. I am a behavioral psychologist. It is not my area of research.”

  “It’s true. I saw it on the Discovery Channel. Think about it. You won’t be able to get a wink of sleep knowing that polar bear’s out there, waiting for you to take a number two.”

  Dmitry shuts the door. “Then I will have to shoo the bear away before sending you out there to freeze to death.” He shoves Cole back to the place he was sitting. “You sit tight and I’ll go out there and take care of this polar bear situation.”

  Cole sits down. “Okay, Dmitry. But be careful out there.”

  Dmitry picks up the shovel, and then turns to Cole. “Thanks, my friend. And no hard feelings when I come back and shove you out there.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s no need to apologize. I understand.”

  Dmitry leaves, and immediately Cole works his way onto his feet, hops over to the door, turns around, and locks it. “Now, how do I cut these binds?”

  He hops over to the kitchenette and finds a reasonably sharp knife. He turns and takes it in his hands, starts sawing at the rope.

  47.

  Oslo…

  I SAY, “WOW, this is huge!”

  “I’m glad it’s livened up your day, Hancock,” Cole replies.

  “There are just a couple things that are unclear.”

  Cole’s eyes narrow. “Like what?”

  “What happened to Dmitry?”

  “He never came back to the observation station. As far as I know, he froze to death trying to find the polar bear he was intent on shooing away. After I got the binds off, I cleaned myself up, and I holed up in the observation station until the supply helicopter came. I just had one thing to do before I left: throw my ID badge in the septic tank, making it look like they were my bones in there.”

  “Wasn’t the helicopter crew interested in what happened to Dmitry?”

  “It was just the one guy, and he didn't have anything to do with the Russians. He was just some guy they’d hired to drop food and supplies off. He knew of Dmitry, of course, so I told him what happened, that he’d gone crazy and left one evening, never returned, which is more or less the truth.” Cole shakes his head. “Crazy son of a bitch. As far as I know, the Russians sent their guys out to shut the place down afterwards.”

  “That’s right. The Agency thinks you’re dead, too. But I don’t get it. Surely the Russians contacted the helicopter pilot they’d hired about what he found, when he dropped off supplies that last time?”

  “That’s all I know, Jake.”

  I have a nagging feeling I’m not asking the right questions. Sure, there are a few things unclear about how Cole got back, and how he managed to trick everyone into thinking he was dead, despite him flying back with the helicopter pilot, who the Russians surely contacted, or vice versa. But that’s not it. These issues seem insignificant compared to something else…

  Then it comes to me. “Why the hell did Gerry send me out to find out what happened to you when she knew she’d sent you out like a lamb to slaughter?”

  48.

  GERRY ACTS COOL, just sips her coffee. She doesn’t look, but she can sense the tail watching her.

  When she’s done drinking it, she waves over the waitress, pays her check, stands up, and picks up her briefcase. As cool as you like, she walks over to where the man is sitting, and takes a seat opposite him.

  He lowers the newspaper, looks at her curiously.

  She says, “Yep, knew I’d be able to spot you.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “Terrible. I spotted you pretty much straightaway.”

  “Aw shit, Gerry. What can I say? I fucked up.”

  Gerry looks around. “Yes you did. Were you followed here?”

  “As far as I can tell, no.”

  “Good.”

  The man sitting opposite her is Eric Clark, the man detailed with tailing Jake. He was to follow him while he was in Oslo, to find out if Jake actually learned what happened to Cole, and to take appropriate action if he did. But as he said, he fucked up. He chose a ridiculous method for staying hidden, the old holes-in-the-newspaper trick, which he just tried to prove the effectiveness of before his scheduled meeting with Gerry.

  After he was found out by Jake, she pulled him from the detail. Now she has to rely on Jake’s honesty, if he finds out what really happened to Cole, which is unlikely. This Bertha Handvinkle isn’t a triple agent at all. Not only that, she isn’t even an agent. Not in the spy sense. She’s just in recruitment. So even if Jake managed to seduce her, he wouldn’t find much out.

  Her plan to cover up what she’d done to Cole is nearly complete. There are just a few things left to do.

  Eric says, “So, are we going to the motel now, so I can collect my payment?”

  “I don’t know, Eric. As you said, you fucked up. Do you even deserve it?”

  “Come on, Gerry. This was a high
-risk gig. And besides, I’m going to require payment to keep my mouth shut.”

  Gerry raises an eyebrow. “So it’s like that, is it, Eric?”

  “I have needs, Gerry.”

  Gerry stands up, and Eric looks panicked for a moment, until Gerry says, “Let’s go and get it over and done with.”

  Eric gets up, looks like he can hardly believe his luck. He almost skips to the parking lot.

  Gerry follows, but not before picking up the briefcase, which contains part of her plan for covering up this mess.

  49.

  COLE SAYS, “THAT I can’t answer, Hancock. But knowing that woman the way I do, she didn’t send you over here to make amends with me—if she suspects I’m still alive, which is unlikely.”

  I ignore him, my mind racing. “Think about it for a second. She basically sent you to your death out there with that psychopath. Why would she entertain the idea of sending someone out here to find out what happened to you?”

  Cole thinks. “Maybe she didn’t want to do it. Maybe it was at Andre’s insistence.”

  “I think you might be onto something here, Cole. She seemed pissed when she found out Andre was sending me here to investigate your disappearance. She was worried that Andre’s top investigator would uncover her dirty little secrets.”

  “Maybe not worried about you specifically, but about someone, anyone, being sent out here to investigate it. This is a difficult situation, Hancock. How are you going to deal with it?”

  “You’re right. It’s going to take a clear head. I’m going to take some time to think, to get my head around things. It’s a complex situation with many pitfalls and I’d do well to stay sober and keep my wits about me—”

  At this moment Bertha comes back into the apartment, carrying a six-pack of beer. She says, “Who would like one?”

  I think a second, and then say, “One won’t hurt.”

  Two and a half beers later, Cole and I send Bertha out for another six-pack.

  During our discussion, we’ve come to three conclusions. One, it’s better for everyone if I don’t reveal that Cole is alive; two, I should go back to Hollywood under the pretense that I didn’t find anything out in general; three, American breweries should really can their beer in these tall European cans.

  I say, “So what are you going to do now, Cole? I mean about your wife and kids.”

  Cole’s still sitting in his rocking chair. I’m on the sofa opposite.

  He starts rocking upon hearing the question. “Maybe it’s better for her if I stay ‘dead.’ Maybe it’s better for her to think of me as the ‘dead’ hero, rather than for her to inevitably find out I’ve been the cheating husband.”

  “Wow.” I shake my head. “You say maybe way too often.”

  Cole has a smirk on his face as he says, “Go to hell, Hancock.”

  I lean forward. “Have you ever thought of me as your…this is going to sound silly.”

  Cole stops rocking. “What is it, Hancock?”

  “Have you ever thought of me as your rival?”

  “Yeah, sure. As soon as I found out you were the one who got me rescued, even though I’d never met you, I considered you my rival, yeah.”

  “Wow, that’s a load off. Gerry thought I was being irrational to consider you my rival after I’d gotten you saved from your kidnapping.”

  “I wouldn’t call it kidnapping.”

  “It kind of was.”

  We both point at each other at the same time, and say, “See! Totally rivals.”

  We sit silently and take the odd sip of beer for thirty seconds or so. Then Cole says, “I appreciate you not telling anyone about me. It means a lot.”

  Truth is, I’m doing it to save myself a whole load of trouble. “Why didn’t you bring him back?” “What do you mean by polar bears?” “Did he at least thank you?” Okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the drift. Cole’s freedom from Gerry’s clutches and his wife’s inevitable legal battle and scorn is just a bonus. Not even a bonus, in fact, an irrelevant consequence. But I’ve never been one to not accept undeserved praise. “Hey, it’s the least I can do, buddy.”

  He raises his tall-ass can of beer. “You’ve helped me more than you could ever know.”

  “Oh stop.” I take a sip, think a second. “Hell if I know why I’m asking this. I certainly didn’t care about the last six months of your life. Must be these European beer cans making me all sentimental, but I will, anyway. What are you going to do, Cole?”

  “Maybe become a pilgrim? Try out as a Buddhist monk? Walk the Berlin Wall? I just want to feel free.”

  “You do know they tore that thing down decades ago, right?”

  “Which one am I thinking of, then?”

  “The Great Wall of China?”

  “That sounds about right. I think that one still exists.” Cole’s eyes shine with excitement or drunkenness. I can’t tell which. Then he says, “If it does, I’m going to walk that fucking thing. And feel enlightened as I do.”

  I stand up. “Well, good luck to you, Cole.”

  “Are you leaving so soon? What about that second six-pack?”

  “Nah, I’ll let you and Bertha drink that one.”

  Hearing Bertha’s name mentioned gets Cole thinking again. “Oh, Bertha. What the hell should I do about her, Hancock?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “You’ve got a reputation at the Agency as an expert in breaking hearts. Any tips?”

  I think a second. “Just off the top of my head. Don’t do it mid-sex, especially during reverse cowgirl—your boys would be right…well, you get the drift; don’t invite her out to a restaurant, hoping to avoid a scene—this is the oldest trick in the book, and she’s likely to get really pissed if she feels like she’s part of a cliché; and lastly, don’t get her drunk on bottle after bottle of White Zin beforehand, thinking that she’d be too drunk to give a shit that you’d slept with her best friend and maid—you’ll just end up giving her round after round of ammunition. Shit aim, but still.” I rub my forehead, remembering the evening.

  “I think I can remember that.”

  I take a few steps toward the hallway and then turn back, thinking I’ll give him one last piece of advice. “Oh, and Cole, make it gentle with this one. She’s kind of a special girl.”

  I turn back and start making my way out.

  When I open the door, I hear Cole shout over, “So you did fuck her, Hancock!”

  I make a run for it, but Cole chases me down the corridor, and the tall-ass beer can that Cole throws at me hits me on the back of the head.

  I run farther down the corridor, find Bertha returning back with the six-pack. I stop, kiss her on the cheek, then get the hell out of Dodge before Cole’s dressing-gown-clad ass catches up to me.

  50.

  SO, CASE CLOSED. Turns out the Russians weren’t up to much, not if you consider them caring about the welfare of their submariners a threat—even a flag-waving Bush supporter with the Stars and Stripes tattooed on his left butt cheek wouldn’t find much wrong with that.

  Also turns out that Gerry’s a bit of a man-eater. And that if you have any pets or small children, you shouldn’t go anywhere near that piece of ass.

  I’m sitting in that bar I went to before the bomb threat, the one named after the Norwegian explorer who raced another dude to the North Pole. I’ve been thinking about this Gerry situation. The more I think about it, the less I think that Gerry acted like some crazy bitch hell-bent on eradicating Cole. I think what she did was a knee-jerk reaction.

  How did Gerry feel about my being sent out here by the Agency to find out what happened? When I think back to it, Gerry seemed motivated about the mission, and she seemed pissed when I was fucking it up. The only logical conclusion I can come to is that Gerry genuinely wanted me to find out what happened to Cole, hoping that he might still be alive. Sure, she might have been worried in the beginning about what I would do if I found out the whole story, but I think she warmed to the idea. Sh
e knows I’m not a snitch. I’ve never squealed in my life.

  And she’s probably sitting in some fancy wine bar in Hollywood right now, regretting what she did, probably missing that dumb son of a bitch. And he is a dumb son of a bitch. I mean, the Berlin Wall? Anyone who knows anything knows that thing was torn down as soon as Adolf Hitler was arrested and locked up by the Brits.

  As for Cole, I’m just glad he’s out of my hair. It’s fun to a have a rival. Someone whose photograph you can pin to your dart board, use as target practice. But it’s also exhausting. Good luck to him.

  There are a couple unresolved parts of this story. I’m still technically going through a dry patch. Sure, I had sex with Bertha, but I found out she just had sex with me to try and screw my secrets out of me. I’ve decided to not worry about it. Getting a woman to have sex with you and develop feelings for you—though I’m not in the least interested in the latter, at the moment—is the opposite to attaining anything else in life. The harder you try, the less successful you are at getting it. If I just act aloof, pretend like I’m not interested in dropping any woman’s panties, not even someone like Megan Fox or some shit, then this dry patch will be over faster than you can say margaritas!

  There was another one, something about a newspaper, but I’m tired after all the sex and excitement this afternoon. Plus, I just ordered a ridiculously strong beer. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll remember tomorrow.

  And wasn’t there something else?

  So much has happened it’s hard to keep track.

  It’s my last night in Oslo, before I fly back tomorrow, and I intend to just relax and get drunk like any normal person. No titty bars that open at night, no bomb threats, no weird talking practices during sex. No screwy shower that wants to either burn the skin off my back or freeze me to my bones. No pain in my chest.

  Fuck! There it is!

  I knew I’d forgotten something.

  I double over, clutching my chest. A few people rush over. I look up, show them how young and handsome I am, to calm those of them down who think I might be having a heart attack.