[Shelby Alexander 04.0] Serenity Submerged

by Craig A. Hart

  Serenity Submerged

  A Shelby Alexander Thriller

  Craig A. Hart

  Northern Lake Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 by Craig A. Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Also by Craig A. Hart

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Craig A. Hart

  The SpyCo Novella Series

  Assignment: Athens

  Assignment: Paris

  Assignment: Istanbul

  Assignment: Sydney

  Assignment: Dublin

  The Shelby Alexander Thriller Series

  Serenity

  Serenity Stalked

  Serenity Avenged

  Serenity Submerged

  Serenity Engulfed

  1

  “You sure this is the place?” The man with the slicked back hair and gold chain peered down Main Street with thinly veiled contempt. He tapped the brakes to bring the car down to a legal twenty-five miles per hour. “I wouldn’t stop to piss in this town.”

  “The locals seem to like it,” said the man in the passenger seat.

  The driver snorted. “Do they, Frank? Or do they not know better?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “I always love a little half-baked philosophy at the end of a shitty road trip.”

  “You’re in one hell of a mood, Simon.”

  “I hate driving and I hate this town.”

  “We’re getting paid.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it.”

  “You’ll stop wondering when you count the money.”

  “We’ll see. You have to admit this isn’t the most glamorous assignment we’ve picked up.”

  “I don’t do this job for the glamour. I do it for the money.”

  “It’s fifty-fifty with me.” Simon glanced over his shoulder. “How about you, Trainwreck? Bills or thrills?”

  Trainwreck, alone in the backseat, only grunted. His strange yellow eyes were slits in his misshapen face and his lips turned down in a permanent frown. A mountain of a man, hulking and brooding, he shared an unfortunate quality with his namesake: he was horrifying to behold, yet inescapably mesmerizing. It was rumored his face had received its ghastly condition as the result of a horrible railway accident. Either that or a doctor had performed impromptu plastic surgery with a mallet and chisel.

  Simon turned his attention back to driving. “No, not Trainwreck. He couldn’t care less about either one. He’s in it for the sheer love of killing. Isn’t that right, Trainwreck?”

  Trainwreck grunted.

  “See? He’s a killing machine. And he doesn’t run his mouth, unlike someone else I know.”

  Frank assumed a hurt expression. “Are you insinuating I talk too much?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying it outright. You talk too much.”

  “Maybe you’re the one who needs to do the killing on this job. Get that pent-up aggression out of your system. I’ve never seen you so agitated.”

  Simon huffed and punched the steering wheel. “How much farther to the motel?”

  “About a mile. The website called it ‘quiet and idyllic.’”

  Simon ignored this and drove on.

  Frank pointed at a large roadside marker. “That’s the sign for it. Serenity Motel.”

  “That’s the name of the place? Hell, I’m deducting two stars from my Yelp review for lack of creativity. The town is called Serenity, for god’s sake.” Simon gave the motel a good look. “On the other hand, maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt. From the looks of it, the motel may have been here first.”

  “It’s quaint.”

  “Do you ever get tired of looking on the bright side? It’s really starting to annoy me.” Simon sighed. “Whatever. Let’s get checked in and get some sleep.” He looked into the backseat and addressed the silent giant. “You stay in the car, Trainwreck. We’re supposed to maintain a low profile. That’ll be difficult to do if too many people see you.”

  Grunt.

  “I’ll take that as an affirmative.” Simon got out and slammed his car door.

  Frank followed suit, stretching mightily. Drawing a deep breath, he took in the backdrop of deep woods. “Look at this scenery! Have you ever seen that shade of green? Gorgeous!”

  “Looks full of bugs,” Simon said. “Let’s get inside. I don’t want to get any nature on me.”

  They moved toward the motel office.

  “You’re so negative,” Frank admonished. “It’s no wonder you developed an ulcer. It’s all those bad vibes.”

  “It’s your cooking.”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault? If you hate it so much, why not do the cooking yourself?”

  “Because I hate cooking more than I hate your cooking.”

  Simon jerked open the screen door and stepped inside the office. A woman sitting behind a desk and reading a gossip magazine looked up. The magazine was dwarfed by the woman’s beefy hands. Even the desk seemed small in comparison to her massive size. The woman dropped the magazine and smiled broadly.

  “What can I do you for?” she boomed, her voice reverberating through the room.

  Simon pushed Frank forward. Frank stumbled and caught himself on the edge of the desk.

  “We’d like a, uh, room,” he said, adding quickly, “Please, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am!” The woman laughed, her prodigious breasts heaving up and down. She stabbed an enormous finger at the nametag on her chest. “The name’s Charlene. Calling me anything else will earn you a punch in the nuts.”

  “Yes, ma’am, er, Charlene.”

  “You got a reservation?”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, we do.”

  “The name?”

  “Smith. Harry Smith.”

  “Okay, Mr. Smith.” The woman made air quotes when she said “Smith” and gave Frank a broad wink. “Let me check the computer…let’s see here…yep, you got a reservation. One room, two queens.”

  “That’s right.”

  The woman pressed a couple of buttons and an ancient printer whirred under the desk. With more than a little effort, she reached down and pulled out the freshly printed sheets. “I got you all checked in. Just sign right here and we’ll—” Without warning, she broke off and stared out the screen door. “What in Jesus’ sweet name—”

  Both Simon and Frank turned. Trainwreck loomed outside, looking in through the screen. In each hand, he held a huge suitcase. He stood there, as still as death and twice as quiet.

  Simon groaned. “Don’t mind him. That’s our…associate.”

  “Don’t mind him?” Charlene crowed. “Honey, you can’t miss him! I’ve seen a lot of big fellas come through here, but never a man that size. Gannon Ellis, rest his soul, was the biggest we had around he
re and even he wouldn’t match that. You planning to share a room with him?”

  “That was the idea.”

  “You’re going to put that man in a queen bed? Honey, that’s cruel and unusual. We’ve got one room with an oversized mattress that just came open.” Charlene grabbed a small black notebook from the desk and leafed through it. She studied it for a moment, then grabbed the phone from its cradle. She punched in a number, waited, then shouted into the phone, “Darryl! Forget tonight. It’s off…yeah. Because I’m on my monthly, that’s why!” Slamming the receiver down, she turned back to Frank with a smile. “Sorry. Had the room, uh, reserved.”

  “Are you sure that’s okay? He can stay with us.”

  “Nonsense. The room just came open.” Charlene reached back and yanked a couple of keys from a peg board. She handed them over. “Yours is 205. The other, 211, that’s for the big fella.”

  “But—”

  “No buts about it! And don’t fret about the extra cost. It’s on the house. Now go on and get settled. Oh, and if you need dinner recommendations, I know some humdingers.”

  The two men left the office and walked toward their room. Trainwreck followed behind, carrying the bulky suitcases as if they were made of gauze and filled with nothing but air. Simon stopped at 205, unlocked the door, and motioned for Trainwreck to leave the suitcases on the first bed. Simon handed him the other key.

  “Here, this is yours. Room 211. Compliments of the lady at the desk.”

  Trainwreck said nothing, only turned and walked from the room, but the keen observer might have noticed the flash of a leer on his face.

  2

  “What’s the matter?” Shelby paused mid-thrust and looked down at Carly. She returned his gaze, but for a moment, it was clear she was in another place entirely. Then he saw her attention snap back and she smiled up at him.

  “Nothing! Why’d you stop?”

  “You looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

  “Did I? Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  “If you’re not into it, we can pick this up later.”

  “No—it’s been crazy at work and school has been taking up more of my time. Are you close?”

  “I can be. Are you throwing in the towel?”

  Carly ran her hands over her breasts. “I can’t seem to focus. And my nipples are numb. You know I have a hard time getting there when that happens.”

  “You want me to go down on you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m distracted, is all. It has nothing to do with you. Go ahead and finish.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “You’re the first man I know to worry about it. Finish. I want you to.”

  Shelby did, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  He rolled away feeling wholly unsatisfied. Unlike many of his male acquaintances, he’d always had trouble separating sex and emotion. It wasn’t that he had to be in love with his partner, but there needed to be some sort of connection, even if it simply meant they were having an equally good time. And the stronger the connection between them, the better the experience was for him. Mack always teased that he was in touch with his feminine side, but Shelby was willing to take the ribbing if it meant a clear line of demarcation between himself and the stereotypical brute. He’d known many of those in his boxing days, the kind who took advantage of groupies and female crew members as if it were a contest—which it sometimes was. Shelby disliked sex as a merely utilitarian exercise; that was what masturbation was for.

  Carly slid from the bed and tip-toed to the bathroom. As she washed, she called out to Shelby.

  “Are you still up for making dinner?”

  “I was planning on it. The ingredients are in the fridge. I’ll get started while you finish up.”

  Shelby pulled on his underwear and a t-shirt before moving to the kitchen to begin the meal prep. He’d brought the ingredients for stir-fry, and as he washed the vegetables, he wondered vaguely if Carly was in the bathroom using her vibrator. It shouldn’t make any difference—she could do what she liked—but the idea bothered him all the same. And it wasn’t entirely a matter of male pride, although that was part of it. In a larger way, it made him wonder about the relationship. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t quite dismiss the feeling. He’d noticed a cooling in Carly for a while, but had dismissed it as the inevitable result of a busier schedule once her schooling began.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  Shelby glanced over his shoulder to see Carly leaning against the kitchen doorway, smiling at him. He smiled back.

  “I think I have it under control. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I’m starved. I’ve been working like crazy on this school shit and I’ve been forgetting to eat. And I’ve been picking up extra shifts at The Barn Door to pay the tuition.”

  Shelby placed the vegetables on a cutting board and began chopping methodically.

  “I thought you had that all budgeted out. Didn’t you have a grant or something?”

  “I thought I would, but it fell through. And I’ve been taking extra courses to bolster my transcript. It’s been more expense with less financial help than I expected.” Carly sighed and rubbed her neck, her face scrunched up with discomfort. “And on top of that, my muscles are killing me.”

  “It sounds like you’ve been under a lot of pressure,” Shelby said. “Why don’t you camp out on the couch and watch television while I finish up here? I’ll call you when it’s ready. After dinner, I’ll be happy to give you a back rub.”

  “Oh my god, that would be amazing.”

  Shelby smiled at her. “It’s the least I can do. Now, off with you.”

  Carly disappeared into the living room and Shelby continued cooking the meal. When it was done, he prepared two plates and went to let Carly know dinner was ready. He was greeted by the sound of soft snoring and, peeking over the back of the couch, he saw she was out like a light, curled beneath an afghan, her head resting on a throw pillow. Shelby reached down to wake her but stopped as his fingers brushed her shoulder. Better to let her sleep. He walked back to the kitchen and covered her plate with plastic wrap. If she didn’t awaken by the time he finished eating, he’d put it in the refrigerator. She could heat it up at her leisure.

  Fifteen minutes later, Shelby was finished eating and Carly was still snoring, now in earnest. Shelby rose, washed what few dishes there were, and flipped off the kitchen lights. He turned on the bedroom lamp and adjusted the door so the glow would spill into the hallway, providing a bit of light by which to navigate in case Carly woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to move to the bed. Then he checked the windows and backed quietly out of the house, locking the front door behind him.

  3

  Simon lifted one of the massive suitcases back onto the bed and opened it. Inside were pistols and automatic weapons, along with ammunition and a neat bundle of crisp paper money. He removed the bundle and began removing bills, counting quietly until he had a small stack. He handed the counted money to Frank.

  “For the truck. Get a sixteen-footer with a rollup door. White and unmarked. If they give you shit about paying with cash or start asking questions, tell them you’ve changed your mind and find a less inquisitive seller.” Simon walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and stood staring out at the parking lot.

  “He give you a time?”

  “Nope. Just said this morning.”

  “Can you call him?”

  Simon turned from the window and fixed Frank with a withering stare. “Call him? Have you learned nothing? Do you know what would happen if I contacted this guy directly?”

  “We’d be out of the business.”

  “Worse than that. Nobody leaves and stays alive. You know too much, have seen too much, to be allowed to walk around like a lone wolf. We can’t screw this up.”

  “What about Trainwreck?”

  “What about him?”

  “How does he fare?”

  �
��Don’t worry about Trainwreck. He gets a pass if he does strictly what he’s told. Nobody knows anything about the guy, except he’s a killer. And seems to be an idiot, which works out well for us. That guy could bend a railroad tie with his little finger.”

  “Brute strength isn’t everything.”

  “No, but I feel better with it at my disposal. The sight of Trainwreck is enough to discourage most would-be troublemakers. He looks like Boris Karloff got his face stuck in an industrial blender. He freaks people out.”

  “Oh shit. We may have company.” Frank stood up quickly. He stepped to the other bed and grabbed a pistol.

  Simon turned back to the window. A patrol car was pulling into the parking lot. It parked directly in front of Room 205. The driver’s door opened and a cop stepped out.

  “Close the blinds, dammit. He’ll see the weapons.” Frank’s voice held something akin to panic.

  Simon didn’t move but simply stood at the window and watched the cop peer over his sunglasses at the room numbers. He stopped looking when he read “205,” pushed his sunglasses back into place, and stepped up on the front walk.

  Frank prepared his weapon to fire and moved toward the door to take up a defensive position.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “You can put the gun away,” Simon said. “It’s him.”

  Frank gaped. “Our guy is a cop?”

  “Not just a cop. He’s the sheriff of this goddamn town.”

  4

  Shelby Alexander stretched and yawned. The sun streamed through the slits in the window blind, an errant beam striking him directly in the eye. Still bleary from sleep, he groped on the nightstand for his cell, found it, and brought it close to his face to view the screen.