Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

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Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set Page 14

by James Kipling


  “Services?” Mandy asked in a confused voice. “Look...we’re not—”

  “Alvin can make you look like a new person,” Jacob cut Mandy off. “You and your sister can’t keep looking like you currently do.” Jacob leaned back against the wooden counter, glanced around the thrift store, and continued. “It won’t be long, tomorrow at the latest, before you”—Jacob nodded at Jessica—“become a celebrity.”

  Jessica stared at Jacob. She had never considered altering her appearance. However, as she read Jacob’s eyes, Jessica’s mind began to glance into the future. She saw her face plastered on every television screen, newspaper and police station bulletin boards across America. If Jacob was right about the CIA marking her as a National Security threat, then it wouldn’t be long before the face of a distraught, grieving woman would go viral. Accepting a new appearance would be very wise.

  “I understand, and I agree with your plan.”

  Hesitating, Mandy glanced up into the face of her very frightened sister and then nodded her head. “What choice do we have? Mr. Monroe, my sister and I are both in danger—”

  “Hold it,” Alvin raised his large right hand, “my ears don’t need to hear anything. Is that clear? Jacob will give me a few details later on; just enough to help me watch my own back. Got it?”

  “We understand,” Jessica assured Alvin in a weak voice.

  Alvin nodded his head, reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a single key, and tossed it to Jacob. “Mi Casa, Su Casa, brother, cockroaches and all.” Alvin pointed to the back of the thrift store. “Go through the brown curtain, hang a right, and walk down a hallway. The hallway ends at a door that leads up to my pad.”

  Jacob shoved the key down into the right pocket of his pants, studied the thrift store carefully, and then pointed to the front door. “Is it okay to leave our ride parked outside?”

  “I can’t make no promises, man.” Alvin folded his arms.

  The neighborhood he called home was filled with drugs and violence, not a fancy club house attached to a lush, green golf course. There were no million-dollar homes.

  No, Alvin Monroe lived in the slums, man, and that was no jive. Why? It was simple: When a man had no life, he had no reason to pretend he was anything better. The few pennies he made selling junk paid for some grub, and that was good enough.

  “Jacob, I’ve been shot at four times in the last two months. This ain’t the type of neighborhood to leave your ride parked in.”

  “Then why live here?” Mandy demanded. “I hate it when people play the victim, when they can make a choice to change.”

  “Why?” Alvin asked as his thoughts began to form a repeat performance inside of his tired mind. “Because, lady,” he stated in a sour voice, “the world don’t want the likes of Alvin Monroe. I had my chance, and I blew it; sunk it down to the bottom of the sea.” Alvin unfolded his arms and motioned around. “This here is my prison...my inner prison.”

  “Please, give me a break,” Mandy fired at Alvin. “So, you made a mistake and got busted for it. I can accept that. What I can’t accept is your pity party.”

  “Pity—”

  “When a person makes a mistake, and learns from that mistake, he...or she...moves forward in life,” Mandy scolded Alvin. “A person has to get back in the saddle again, Mr. Monroe, and that’s a fact.” Mandy tapped the right wheel of her wheelchair with an angry hand. “This wheelchair carries me every day of my life, because I carry a dead leg. Do you see me giving up? No. So don’t stand there and whine to me, okay.”

  Alvin stared at Mandy with wide, shocked eyes. “Hey, now—”

  “Don’t ‘Hey, now’ me,” Mandy snapped. “You chose your life, Mr. Monroe, but don’t whine about it to me, okay? Because I’m not in the mood. I’m tired, scared, very confused, and I don’t have a clue as to what tomorrow is going to bring. A few days ago, my life was normal. Now I’m trapped inside a storm.”

  Mandy’s words filled Jessica’s already tortured heart with guilt. “Mandy, I’m sorry—”

  Mandy reached up and patted Jessica’s wrist. “Jessie, none of this is your fault,” she said and shot a sharp eye at Jacob. “He has the answers but refuses to tell us.”

  Jacob understood Mandy’s frustration and allowed the woman to vent. “Ms. Andrews, it’s been a long day. I suggest we go upstairs and try to rest. In the meantime, I’ll drive your van and park it in the alley—”

  “I’ll do that,” Alvin corrected Jacob. He pulled up his gray jacket and pointed to a Beretta M9 in a black gun holster which hung from a worn-down belt. “When people shoot at Alvin Monroe, Alvin Monroe shoots back. The clown that’s been using me as a target these last two months...well, that clown took four shots at me, but not a fifth. That clown is now laid out at the city morgue with a few bullets in his chest.”

  “My goodness,” Jessica whispered, as her mind became trapped inside a creepy morgue lined with dead bodies lying on cold, stainless steel tables. Each table, instead of holding modern day criminals, was holding a dead cowboy with makeup on their faces. Each face was painted with silence and fear, each body destroyed by a single bullet to the heart. Why was Jessica seeing dead cowboys? She wasn’t sure.

  “That’s the way of the street,” Alvin told Jessica, and then pointed at the front door. “Lady, the ‘Red Spiders’ roam these streets. A guy named ‘5 Skin’ is the leader of the ‘Red Spiders’. We’re talking about a guy who forces nine-year old kids to sell drugs.” Alvin kept his eyes on the door. “There comes a time when a man has to make a name for himself. My time finally arrived last week.”

  Mandy heard sorrow, rather than pride, seep out from Alvin’s voice. The large black man, as scary and mean as he appeared, seemed to have a decent heart beating inside of his weary chest. Mandy didn’t have time to play ‘Mommy’, though. “Jacob, if my van gets stolen, I swear—”

  “If you’re driving a van, then it’s more likely the brothers in this neighborhood will think you’re cops and leave it alone,” Alvin explained. “By now, word has gotten around that three white skins have entered my store. I’ll play you off as cops and catch a little heat but come out of the ordeal with just a few scratches.”

  “Or you could work for—” Jacob began.

  “No,” Alvin cut him off in a hard voice. “Jacob, my brother, I’m not taking handouts. Your old man took me into his home, fed me, clothed me, helped me graduate from high school, and then made sure I joined the Navy. He wanted me to have a life, man, and I blew it. I could no longer...” Alvin’s face twisted, “I could no sooner face your old man than I could face my own reflection.”

  “You have to stop hating yourself sooner or later, Alvin,” Jacob pressed with a caring hand. “You’ve thrown the bottle down into the gutter and—”

  “And what?” Alvin asked Jacob, as he waved his hands around the thrift store, and shook his head. “And what, my brother? So, what if I killed the bottle. The bottle already killed me first.”

  Jessica felt a strange sense of pity rise in her heart for Alvin. The man was punishing himself for a mistake he made at the age of twenty-three. Alvin, who appeared to be thirty or so, didn’t seem to understand how to forgive himself and let go. Sometimes a person could never forgive and let go. “Jacob, will you take us upstairs, please? I’m very tired.”

  “There’s some peanut butter and jelly in the fridge,” Alvin told Jessica, and then held out his right hand. “Hand me the keys to the van, Jacob.” Jacob studied Alvin’s face, saw a man he trusted with his own life, and handed over the van keys. “Whatever is going on, man,” Alvin said, staring at Jacob, “until we part ways, you’re under my care.”

  And with those words Alvin ordered everyone upstairs.

  ((((((((((*))))))))))

  Alvin’s apartment was a cockroach’s dream. Jessica and Mandy both felt as though they had entered a dumpster which sat outside of a greasy diner filled with hungry truckers, eating burgers dripping with fat, and
slowly ensuring expensive trips to the emergency room.

  “Oh my,” Mandy gasped and grabbed her nose. Her terrified eyes stared into a living room covered with a filthy gray rug stained with cigar burns. “What is that smell?”

  Jacob looked into the living room and began carefully studying the interior nightmare. He looked at a brown leather couch that was torn in numerous places. The couch was merely a decoy. Next, Jacob studied a painfully food-stained, cream colored wall. The wall, like the couch, was a decoy. Then, Jacob drew in a deep breath and allowed his sense of smell to determine a foul, rotted odor coming from a small kitchen, which held a rusted stove and a rusted refrigerator. “Not bad, Alvin,” Jacob whispered. “Leave a piece of meat sitting out to create the smell, and keep the place looking ghetto enough to keep the gangs out.

  “What?” Mandy asked Jacob, hearing the man whispering to himself. Her face was flushed with anger, and her eyes were flashing with frustration. “My sister and I—”

  “Follow me,” Jacob ordered Mandy. He closed the front door, glanced around, spotted a closet door that was closed, and nodded his head. “This way, please.” Jessica looked down at Mandy who shrugged her shoulders.

  “Please,” Jacob pressed.

  Jessica placed her right hand over her nose. “I—”

  “Please,” Jacob pressed again, approaching the closet door, stepping on a carpet that was not only stained with cigar burns, but also caked with years of food residue, and carefully pulled open the closet door. A few empty coat hangers on a rusted closet bar greeted his eyes.

  Jessica peered over Jacob’s shoulder, spotted an empty closet, and then focused confused eyes on her sister. “I don’t—”

  “Watch,” Jacob insisted in a calm voice. Jessica stepped back to Mandy, and watched Jacob enter the closet. “Alvin is very clever,” Jacob explained, as he began feeling the closet walls with two skilled hands. The closet walls were very cold; colder than they should have been. The texture of the walls felt like mashed potatoes, deliberately painted to feel that way.

  “What are you doing?” Mandy pleaded. “Jacob, we don’t have time for—”

  “Just a minute,” Jacob insisted, raising his hands up high and feeling around the top of the closet walls. “Ah,” he grinned as his right hand located a small metal switch that had been painted an ugly whitish gray color—the same color as the closet walls. “To the untrained eye, this switch would go unnoticed. Very clever, Alvin.”

  “What did you find?” Jessica asked.

  Jacob turned to Jessica, looked into the woman’s exhausted, yet beautiful, face, and stared into her scared eyes. Jessica was a very beautiful woman but so very fragile. Jacob worried that Jessica was too fragile to fight. Yes, the woman had managed to survive being attacked by Wendy Cratterson, but not by skill. Jessica had simply kicked Wendy, and the force of the kick had caused the woman to lose her balance and prematurely discharge her weapon, sending a bullet into her head. Jessica Mayes was not a fighter. Jessica Mayes was not an apocalyptic warrior who could withstand ten street fighters at one time. Jessica Mayes was not a survivalist who thrived on sneaking into abandoned truck stops under the cover of night and stealing water from a broken radiator. No, Jessica Mayes was simply a grieving widow who had once taught children but retired to write children’s books. Nothing more, nothing less. Jacob knew not to treat Jessica as anything more or less, too.

  “Watch,” he explained and activated the switch. He then used both of his hands to push at the north closet wall. To Jessica’s surprise, the wall began to move, being pushed back on a set of tracks.

  “A secret room?” Mandy asked in a shocked voice.

  When the wall was fully pushed back, Jacob stepped forward and entered a medium sized room that, unlike the dump apartment he had first been introduced to, was immaculately clean, and covered with old wooden floors and hard wood walls. A single bed, a gray leather couch, a white stove, a stainless-steel refrigerator, and a brown kitchen table occupied the room. That was it.

  “It’s going to be tight, but we should be able to get your wheelchair through, Ms. Andrews,” he called over his shoulder.

  “This is crazy,” Mandy exclaimed. “I feel like I’m trapped in the Twilight Zone.”

  Jessica nervously bit down on her lip. “Mandy, please,” she whispered, “we need a place to rest.”

  Mandy watched Jacob study the inside of a strange room with weary eyes. “Okay...okay,” she caved in. “Jacob, help me.”

  Jacob hurried to Mandy and, with careful but difficult positioning, he rolled the tired woman into the stainless-steel room. Jessica reluctantly followed. The first thought that entered Jessica’s mind when her eyes took in the room was…

  “A Morgue,” she whispered as terror struck her heart.

  “This old building used to be used as a hospital years ago,” Jacob explained in a calm voice, as he hurried to close the closet door and push the wall back into place. “We should be safe here.”

  “Creepy.” Mandy shivered all over. “And it’s so cold in here.”

  Jacob took a few seconds to examine the room further. That’s when he noticed that the far back wall still had body drawers attached. A heavy feeling of absolute defeat punched Jacob in the face. He was standing in an old morgue. This room was no place for a grieving widow to rest. His eyes fell on Jessica, and he saw the woman staring at the body drawers in horror. Mandy’s eyes quickly followed.

  “Look, I... we can leave...”

  Tears began to fall from Jessica’s eyes. “Oh, Jack,” she whispered, turned back toward the closet, and covered her face. “Please, get me out of here.”

  Jacob quickly pulled the wall back, and hurried Jessica back out into the smelly apartment. So far, the plan to play hero was failing. Mandy followed, fighting to make her wheelchair cooperate.

  “Is this your idea of a sick joke?” she snapped at Jacob.

  “I’m sorry,” Jacob apologized. “I didn’t know. I assumed Alvin made a hidden room out of an old patient room or office, not the morgue.” Jacob slammed the closet wall shut with angry hands. “Mrs. Mayes, I’m terribly sorry.”

  Jessica covered her face, left the apartment, and walked back to the thrift store. Alvin was nowhere in sight.

  “Why is this happening?” Jessica whispered through her tears, feeling as if she had been thrown into an open grave and was slowly being surrounded with slow, painful, screams that would never end.

  Mandy grabbed her wheelchair and rolled after Jessica, leaving Jacob alone in the diseased apartment.

  “Jessie, honey, wait up!” she called out. Mandy rolled into the thrift store and spotted Jessica standing beside the front door. “Honey, are you okay?”

  Jessica shook her head no, as tears dripped from her eyes. “I’m very angry,” she whispered. “My husband is dead...”

  Mandy wheeled over to Jessica, gently took her right hand, and looked up with sorrowful eyes. “Do you want to ditch this guy, honey?” she asked. “We can—”

  “Do what?” Jessica asked Mandy in a desperate voice. “Do what? Go where? The CIA knows where I live...where you live. We can’t use our bank or credit cards. We have very little cash on us. What will...what can we do all alone, Mandy?”

  Jacob slowly entered the thrift store. “Mrs. Mayes, I’m terribly sorry.”

  “How could you have known?” Jessica asked Jacob, offering forgiveness. “You’re only trying to help me.”

  “Is he?” Mandy asked and shot Jacob a scornful eye. “Or is this guy trying to save his own neck? I mean, he’s not helping us because he wants to, Jessie. You have information he wants.” Mandy raised her right finger and pointed at Jacob. “Isn’t that right?”

  Before Jacob could answer, gunshots erupted from outside. Jacob counted the shots: four.

  “Get behind the counter,” he ordered, yanking out his Glock 17, and cautiously approaching the front door, as Jessica hurried Mandy behind the front counter
. Jacob waited until Jessica and Mandy were both secure and then eased open the front door and forced his eyes to scan the wet darkness that greeted him. Not more than three seconds later, a shadowy figure thundered through the door.

  “Alvin!”

  “It’s no good!” Alvin yelled in a panicked voice. He shoved Jacob away from the door, kicked it shut, and then ran toward the front counter. “5 Skin was out there, man, waiting for me. He tried to cap me! Carmen saw the fight, man. Carmen saw me take down 5 Skin. He ran off to tell the ‘Red Spiders’!”

  Jacob watched Alvin run behind the front counter, grab a wooden cigar box, fling it open, and yank out extra clips for his Beretta. “Alvin—”

  “We gotta slip, man. The rest of the ‘Red Spiders’ will be here in a few minutes!” Alvin yelled. “They’ll storm in here and gun us down like dogs.” Alvin shoved the extra clips into his jacket pockets. “Ma’am,” he warned Mandy, “hold on!”

  “What...” Before Mandy could finish her sentence, Alvin grabbed her wheelchair and began running toward the back door.

  Jacob, realizing the severity of the situation, ordered Jessica to run, just as twenty-two ‘Red Spiders’ gang members began pouring out of a crack house down the street, like baby spiders hatching out of a poison pouch.

  “Run!” he barked.

  Filled with sheer panic and absolute fear, Jessica ordered her legs to cooperate with her mind and began running. In her mind, she saw vicious, doped-up gang members storming into the thrift store like a pack of rabid dogs, desperate to tear her apart limb by limb. For a mere second, Jessica nearly stopped. The idea of being gunned down—the idea of being reunited with Jack—was so tempting that she actually felt her legs beginning to slow. But then the same voice that had spoken to her in Sheriff Butler’s office, and ordered her to fight, returned.

  Jessica heard the voice yell Run! And as if two invisible hands grabbed her body, Jessica lurched forward and began picking up speed. Run...run...you have to escape...run...run...you have to escape...there is no time! The voice yelled over and over, as Jessica ran after Alvin.

 

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