Cold Dead Hands (A Mike Casper Thriller Book 1)

by Sebastian Blunt

  Casper ignored the voice in his head, screaming at him to run away. He gently touched her shoulders. The sense of it was electric, and Cassie trembled for a fraction of a second. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Mike closed the gap and brought his lips to hers, at first just barely touching, but then kissing her with a pent-up desire that he would have restrained if Cassie was any other woman on earth.

  She stepped back slightly. Her breathing was quick and short. “Bill, I think you should show me your house—now.”

  “Absolutely, and please call me Mike.”

  “That thing you did. Where did you learn that?” Cassie managed to whisper in between rapid breaths and involuntary undulating movements of her hips.

  “I read it in a book,” Casper said while planting small kisses from her lower abdomen in a line that extended between her breasts.

  Their lovemaking continued until late in the night. It was magical. Mike felt like the outside world had drifted into oblivion as Cassie repaired his lonely heart and found all his missing parts. The amazing woman filled him with confidence and strength. Her energy infused him with the will to find a path to survival and not be condemned to a life of looking over his shoulder, seeking out dark, safe corners in which to hide.

  For Cassie, her journey from England to Italy to make it alone, without her parents’ wealth—it now seemed that it could happen for the first time. She knew that there was something special about Mike, something uniquely suited to her. Everything clicked.

  “Are you ready to start talking?”

  “You’re still awake enough to have a conversation?” he asked.

  “That is strange,” she mused. “You’d think after the last four hours that I’d be completely sapped. But I’m not. I want to know the truth about why you have so many secrets. You know you can trust me.”

  Mike kissed her neck and held her. The feeling of her against his chest made him feel like the world could be torn asunder, and he would still be safe. Their naked bodies fit together like sensual puzzle pieces.

  “Yes,” he answered. “It’s not just about the incredible physical connection between us. Is it supposed to be like this? It’s a bit frightening?” He surprised himself by exposing this vulnerability.

  “What we’ve just discovered is a rare gift, Mike. We should never let this go. So, I must know. And I mean everything, but for now, I want to know what’s chasing you. People hide because something is following them; generally, something unpleasant or sinister. Trust me and tell me.”

  Casper fidgeted uncomfortably but then yielded.

  “My real name is Mike Casper. I am from Brooklyn.”

  “I can hear New York in your accent even though you cover it up expertly,” she replied.

  “Listen. This story could take a while.”

  “So what? If you haven’t figured it out yet, we’re joined at the hip now.”

  Mike laughed like a teenager in love. “I guess so,” he said as he leaned up on one elbow.

  “Cassie. My dad was a cop in Brooklyn. He was shot and killed. But before that, I was already getting into trouble. It started with smoking pot, but a friend got me involved with a gang of dealers. It’s hard to believe how fast they suck you in. Then the top guy in my area had a talk with me—what a difference between the street thugs and this guy. I went to a nice house in a nice neighborhood. A very polite guy in a suit took me into an office in the back. I was maybe 15 without a clue that these guys were veteran killers—every last one of the executive people that worked for the boss were pleasant but deadly.

  “I met with the local “controller.” That’s what he called himself. Sometimes he labeled himself a manager, but it didn’t matter; his name was Alan, a guy who looked like he could have been a dentist.”

  “What did he want with you?”

  “That’s easy. He knew I was smart. Not to brag, but I am really good at math and figuring things out. The teachers would try to trick me up with logic problems, but I always won if they tried to compete with me.

  “Alan was sharp as a tack. It didn’t take him long to push me into floating around Brooklyn and checking numbers and supplies. But I stayed in school, and no one suspected that a high schooler was a street inspector for a badass ring of dealers.”

  “You did this while your father was a policeman?”

  A very powerful guilty sadness flashed through Casper’s heart. Cassie pin-pointed the truth of it all, and although he’d played it out in his head for ten years, more even, it still hurt that he betrayed his dad.

  “I did.” He wiped a tear from his eye while she urged him to continue. “I made a lot of money. I was pulling down $2500 a week in high school. Not bad for a sixteen-year-old kid.

  “I put that cash into a metal box in a hole that I dug behind our garage. I didn’t spend a dime. By the time I was 18, I had $260,000 in cash—that was two years working for Alan.”

  “Holy shit!” she repeated a couple of times.

  “Yep. And then my dad got shot. He spent two months in a coma. I was home alone because I was over eighteen, the social workers had nothing to say, and my dad’s salary continued while he was in the hospital.”

  “Mike, I’m so sorry.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair. “It gets worse.” He paused and took a deep breath. “My dad was in the process of busting Alan’s guy when he got shot. The same guy in the suit that had first introduced me to the manager took a bullet in his chest from my father, but he was able to get a shot off before he dropped.

  “I went to see Alan. Believe it or not, he cried when I told him. It was the best bullshit acting job in history, but I was an imbecile and fell for it. The man had me fooled by claiming that if he’d known that my dad was on the team, he would have gotten his scumbag to surrender. That was all a complete story—very convincing, though.”

  “What happened to you after that? Did you leave?”

  “Nope.” Casper sighed. The story never got easier. “The controller gave me $100k when my father died. He promised me that it was a dirty business but that from now on, all his top people were instructed to give themselves up to cops if they got cornered. That was not the case with street thugs, but he said the hire-ups would get a lawyer and wiggle their way out. And they did. It worked like that for a couple of years. These guys were so slick; you couldn’t pin jack-shit on them, and the lower-down jerks were blind and dumb as to how they were being played.”

  He laid back down and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. All was quiet outside in the junkyard, and the town was fast asleep.

  “I never got a raise in my weekly, and the boss knew that I had no one to complain to about it. The insurance paid for my dad’s house, so my bills were pathetically small. But I was mostly alone. A couple of girlfriends, but they were good kids, and I couldn’t tell them what I did, so I ditched them—no point in bringing Brooklyn College students into my criminal life.

  “A guy named Jasper was my only friend. He was also part of the business but down on the street. Jasper was not much of an intellectual.

  “Anyway, the cops stopped being so nosy after a while. Something changed. I think Alan’s boss must have made a deal with the police. It’s amazing how quickly the most honest public servants will look the other way when a monthly wad of cash is deposited into their secret accounts in the Caribbean.”

  “Is it that easy?”

  “Hell, yes. Let’s say you’re a police detective making $70,000 a year. Then someone working for Alan starts paying you $10k a month to make sure that your peers look in the wrong direction. Pretty soon, you’ve got a couple of hundred grand in a no-tell bank in the Caymans. Then you do the math, and by the time you retire, you’ll have a million-plus to cover the boat in Florida and jewelry for your trophy wife.”

  “Is there really that much money?”

  Mike laughed. “You are very sweet and naïve, my beautiful Cassie. I did the math for a chunk of Brooklyn. The money is hard to comprehend�
�I mean, it is an astronomical amount of tax-free cash. By the way, maybe you want to tell me your last name?”

  “Clark.”

  “Cassie Clark? Is that for real? Your name sounds like country music. Y’all give it up for Cassie Clark! Then the crown cheers while drinkin’ whiskey and beers.”

  “That’s the name. Just accept it. What happened next?”

  “There was turbulence. What I mean is that Alan’s boss got snagged. Someone else took his place, and Alan didn’t like it. With the amount of product that we were moving through Brooklyn, he thought it was only natural for him to start running the big show. No such luck. That pissed off my manager. He was desperate to get some intel. Keep in mind that we are talking about only less than a year and a half ago. I wasn’t a kid.

  “My controller assigned Jasper and me to surveil a meeting in Manhattan. We were out of our jurisdiction. I knew it, and I knew that these power games between people on this level could put both of us in the ground or the East River in a heartbeat.”

  “Oh my! Why did you do it then?”

  “You’re funny. How would I say “no” to my boss? Send him some fast food and tell him thanks but no thanks?

  “So we went to the city. The intel on the location of the meeting was perfect. We set up as best we could in a nearby alley. It was very late. I used an excellent night-vision lens and watched two cars pull up. Then a van. One person got out of each car. Then someone brought a guy with a hood over his head. I’ll call him ‘the victim.’” The poor bastard was being held by one of the Manhattan organization tough guys.”

  “Mike. You just said that the person tied up was a victim. What does that mean?”

  “Wait. Anyway, I got first-rate still pics of the meeting. I didn’t know how deep in the mud I’d gotten myself until I found out who was there. Honestly, it would be best if you didn’t know.”

  Cassie thought about that. “No. We’re together. Tell me.”

  “It was the deputy chief of police of New York, a guy named John Bruner. Now he is the chief, and he’s a murderer.”

  “And the other one?”

  “I don’t know. It was a woman. I still have the pictures. The importance of that meeting could only mean one thing: that that woman is the boss—the top predator in the New York drug chain. She was who my manager wanted me to photograph, and I did. Then I watched the thug guy pull out what must have been a kilo of heroin, most likely, and drop it on the ground in front of the victim. And, after what must have been a short barking-fest by Bruner, the deputy pulled out a pistol and shot the victim in the head. I have all the images.”

  “This story is terrifying me.”

  “I should stop,” suggested Mike.

  “No. Keep going.”

  “I found out later that the dead guy with the bag over his head was a cop from Brooklyn who was on Alan’s payroll. The guy stole that kilo and tried to make a private deal. That is the info I was supposed to get for my boss. There was direct evidence on Bruner and the top drug pusher's identity—surprisingly, a middle-aged woman dressed as if she could work in a mall.

  “The woman pulled out what I thought was a knife and planted it into the neck of the gang enforcer while Bruner stood there with his pistol. She was fast—stabbing him maybe three times in his neck before he could do much. I’ve got photos of both victims. But then everything went south.

  “I heard a shot, and Jasper took a bullet from somewhere. There was a sniper. I ran like hell and got very lucky. I just kept running.”

  “Mike, this story sounds like a book. Please tell me this is a practical joke.”

  “I wish it was my imagination. It’s not. I ran back to my house and grabbed as much cash as I could. I spent six weeks hiding in South Carolina and other places. Then I found someone to get me to Amsterdam. That cost me $65k. Every damn step of the way, I thought I was about to be taken out. But I made it here to become a shitty fisherman with a woman who is a diamond above all others.”

  “Did you practice that line?”

  “No. I mean it. That is why being with me is dangerous. They will not stop looking for me until I’m dead.”

  “So then you’ll hide here. No one knows you.”

  “Cassie, it’s not that simple. These people are very determined. I don’t think they give a crap about Bruner, but the woman? She stabbed her own guy in the neck to prove a point. I found out later when I took a good look at the pictures that she used scissors. What kind of killer uses a pair of scissors to murder someone? There’s no moral or ethical compass in that woman. I’ve stayed off the radar, but I did see that questions are being asked about New York’s drug business being consolidated.

  “My boss? Dead. They tortured him and burned him alive while his wife watched. Does that explain how vicious that lady running New York is? And no one can identify her except for me. And you don’t think that Alan gave me up before they finished him? They know who I am. The pics translate into a $10 million contract on my life.”

  She processed his dilemma rapidly and wrapped her arms around him. “Where can we run, Mike?”

  “We? It should be you running away from me. Go back to England. Be happy. And safe. It can’t be we.”

  “Yes. We. I’m not an imbecile. I hear your thoughts. You want to run away to protect me. Of course, that’s the safest thing for me, but I don’t want to be without you. When you first came in the pub almost a year ago—I already knew that at a minimum, we would be lovers. And believe this, Casper, I’m a novice at sex because I’ve been waiting for you to show up. Where you go, I go. So, I’ll sell the pub, and we can go to New Zealand or Guam or Nauru. I don’t care. We can find a way to make a living.”

  “Where the hell is Nauru?”

  Chapter 7

  Buddease Restaurant on the west side near the park had just the right ambiance. The interior was classy with dark mahogany trim, stylish mirrors, not overly elaborate lighting, and a collection of art that was local and excellent.

  Chuck Clemp wasn’t the kind of guy who knew a lot about art, but he could tell a Van Gogh from a Rembrandt without extreme difficulty. Across from him sat the most beautiful and sweetly possessed woman he’d ever dated. Her kindness and even her expressions soothed away the stress that he carried with him from the office. Claire German just had that special something—she whisked away his angst with a wink and a smile.

  “Claire, you look beautiful tonight.”

  “Charles, you bring that out in me.”

  He loved how she was the only person close to him that used the name “Charles.” Even his late mother called him Chuck. When this woman called his name, it made him feel worthy.

  Barnett nailed it with his idea to bring Ms. German into his life. His technical guy just earned himself a boost up the ladder. And, Chuck thought, if tonight went the way he hoped—.

  “So, Mr. Clemp. Is there something delicious on the menu that I should focus on? The entrecote? The salmon? I do hope that we’ll leave room for dessert.” She gave him that look, and he knew when Claire said dessert, she wasn’t talking about apple pie.

  “I always leave some space for an after-dinner treat.”

  “Always?” She stared at him just so.

  He gulped. “I mean, not always. Um. Not since I met you.” He felt like a fifteen-year-old when she dissected him with those dark eyes and long lashes.

  Claire giggled demurely. “I’m just playing with you, mister. And shall I add that serious playtime will start after dinner?”

  Chuck was pleased beyond reason. He was looking at her in that stylish blue dress. An outfit that showed off her assets without broadcasting a sleazy message. Perhaps she would be his angel in the kitchen and his devil in the bedroom.

  “Claire, I want to talk to you about an issue.”

  Just then, an out-of-place violinist strolled near their table. She blushed and thought: only a month and a half.

  “Sweetheart. These past six weeks have been wonderful for me. Even the people in
the office are mumbling about my cheerful disposition. It’s because of you. All you. I can run that business fair enough, but since I met you, it’s been much better.”

  She looked at him and waited. It was wise to go with his narrative.

  “We’ve talked about life and what it means to connect with someone. I want you to know that there is no greater partner for me than you. And to just tell it like it is—I love you.”

  “I love you too, Charles.”

  He got up and stood in his neat gray suit to retrieve a small black felt box from his pocket.

  “Claire,” Clemp said as he dropped to one knee. “I love you so much.” He pulled out the ring he’d purchased for her. It was pretty and not audaciously large—a two-carat round stone with a white gold setting. “I love you more than life itself.” Chuck held up the ring. “Will you marry me?”

  She pulled him up to his chair and held out her finger. He placed the ring while marveling at the captivating look on her face.

  “Charles, I suppose that if you love me that deeply, that makes you the perfect man. I will.”

  Scott Barnett got the call at ten. Tonya was thrilled and tried to calculate how much of a raise her matchmaker husband should expect. Enough for a new car?

  “Chuck. I am so happy for you! The two of you together is fantastic. The board is going to flip. There’s an office pool about whether you would still be single when you turn 50—some guys down in the mailroom just made a little money.”

  “That’s a little disheartening. They should be working and not gambling on whether this old fart can get hitched. But it means nada. I am beyond excited—maybe even more than when we beat the estimates three quarters ago by a nickel.”

  “Well, that was your hard work, Mr. C.E.O., and the fact is that you’ve earned a vacation and a little recreation. You cannot go right back to work after getting married. No way. Maybe you should take your boat and sail in the Med like you’ve been planning for the last five years? Isn’t the thing still tied up in Europe somewhere? Take Claire with you! We’ll hold down the fort until you get back.”