Cold Dead Hands (A Mike Casper Thriller Book 1)
Page 28
“Whoa,” Bixby interjected quite forcefully. “Kim stays. Only you.”
“Screw you. We’re a package deal.”
“That’s above my pay grade. I can’t authorize that.”
“It’s all or nothing. Kim and I are one unit.”
The government man twirled his tie in this fingers. He looked like a kid trying to figure out how much he could get away with and how much trouble he’d be in. “Okay. If I get a lot of crap about it, then make up a story about threatening me at gunpoint.
“Now, move your bags into my trunk. Then we need to drag that body out behind the bakery. A crew will be here in about two hours to take the dead guy.” Bixby stated confidently to Elisa. “Do you have a blanket?”
“Yes,” said Elisa. “I’ll wash down the driveway also.”
Mike reached into his pocket and counted out five hundred dollars. “This is for the lunch and the trouble.”
“Thanks.” She stashed the cash into her apron.
Chapter 35
Kim and Mike sat in the backseat of the Bixby’s car. The man didn’t have children because the thing smelled like it was new.
“Where are we going?”
From behind, she noticed that the proclaimed government agent had a few scars on him—most notably, a nasty one on his right hand and a smaller one on the side of his neck.
“You don’t need my revolver, by the way. I’m not your enemy. As far as where we’re going—see that sign. Roswell. Route 285 South, which is the road we’re on now.”
“What’s down there?”
“Excitement. Adventure. A simple trailer home where you’ll get to ask questions.”
Kim was getting aggravated. “Can you answer a simple question? Any question?”
“Miss Manshu, go ahead and ask.”
“What government agency do you work for? F.B.I. I’m thinking.”
Bixby laughed hard. “Those pussies? No. I work for—,”
Just then, he grabbed the volume control on the radio and cranked it up. “I’m sorry, but when I hear this song, I could be in a shootout, and it would have to take priority.”
After the tune was over, he looked into the mirror. Both of his passengers looked unhappy. “Sorry. I can’t tell you anything. It’s another 45 minutes, and then you can meet the boss and ask him whatever you want.”
Mike perked up. “Are you sure the boss is a man?”
“He’s got a penis, so I’m pretty sure.” There was a pause. “That’s it. Now sit back a don’t worry. You are a hell of a lot safer now than you would have been on your own. I gave you a maximum of three more days.”
Casper was skeptical, but Kim believed Bixby, considering that they’d be dead on the gravel parking lot back at Dough A Deer without him. Chances were that Elisa Shappy would be dead on the ground with them. Kim considered Bixby. When she was in boarding school, one lesson the teachers continually drilled into her head was gratitude. There was no reason to ignore that advice being that Bixby just saved their lives.
*
“The New Mexico track ended without a good conclusion.”
Rosalita buried her anger and frustration. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that their hired asset chasing Casper disappeared in the desert. The guy failed to check-in and didn’t answer his phone going on three hours. The GPS tracker on his car died about ten minutes earlier.
Somehow, Mike was just that good. In many ways, she wished he was working for her and not running from her.
“Peter. Keep looking. Do we have any lead on our man down there?”
“Not at all. He and his vehicle vanished into thin air. The last communication was that he followed them towards a place called Vaughn, but the trail dies there—probably along with our hitter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Not answering two calls is unheard of, and the tracker was shielded and in an armored box. It stopped about 20 miles from Vaughn. Someone deliberately destroyed it. That means our guy is dead.”
“Unbelievable. Are you impressed with Mr. Casper yet?”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
The drug queen pondered that thought. “His dad was just a fly in the ointment. And until Alan got ambitious, Mike was on his way up the ladder.”
“Yep. Alan should have been content with what you gave him in Brooklyn.”
“What about Glenda Jones?”
Peter hoped that his boss would forget about Jones, but Rosalita never forgot anything. Ever.”
“Rumors only.”
“Such as?” she asked.
“That she’s still hiding in West Virginia with some benefactor. Then there’s one that she’s overseas and happy to never come back.”
“Bullshit. Jones wants me too badly. She’s obsessed. I do not doubt that sooner or later, our favorite transwoman reporter will sneak back into my city to try again.”
He listened to Rosalita, and once in a while, he could read her face. Pete recognized the look. It was the one where she put Jones into the category of a thief. Stealing from the drug queen could be goods, money, or pride. Glenda wasn’t interested in money. Nope, the bitch was out to destroy Rosalita. He thought about that and concluded that if they did get their hands on the ambitious journalist, his boss would probably get dark ages brutal on Jones’ ass—messy but excellent at delivering a message.
A quiet bell rang as the entrance door opened. “Keep looking for Mike,” she said as she waved him away so that she could help a customer find the right pair of shoes.
*
“This is it?” Casper looked at the double-wide trailer home, pale pink, sitting on a huge lot with the closest neighbor far down the road.
“She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts.”
“Listen. Bixby. Do you ever answer a question without joking or using a movie line?”
“Grab your bags and show a little patience. Do you see how calm your girl is?”
Kim sneered at the man. “Girl Bixby? I have a B.S.E.E. from Cooper Union. I’m not just a girl, dammit.”
“I apologize, Kimberly.” said the government agent sincerely.
Not a split second had passed.
“Apology accepted.”
“Are you ready?”
They both nodded as the man fixed his tie and fumbled in his pocket for a key. He turned the lock cylinder and led them into a large room with one chair. From their vantage point, the other rooms looked empty as well.
Mike was livid. “This is your secret government office? What a load of crap!”
“Follow me, ye of little faith.” He walked over to what looked like cheap paneling and pushed on it. The panel popped open. Behind that was a steel door, then a stairway, concrete with a welded steel railing. It looked very commercial.
They descended a flight and went through another door to a skinny hallway painted white and illuminated with strips of L.E.D. bulbs. Bixby went straight to an office, knocked, and entered. There was a large desk with computer screens. On the wall to their right hung a map of the United States with colored pins stuck in it.” But the thing that absorbed Mike and Kim’s attention was the man in a light gray suit sitting behind the desk glaring at them.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
Bixby shrugged. “Casper said he wouldn’t come without her.”
“And you went along with that?”
“We had limited time, sir. Also, we need a cleanup crew at that spot I marked in Vaughn.”
The man behind the desk had neatly-combed, bright white hair and a dark mustache. He was strange to look at.
“Put your bags over there.” He pointed to the corner. Mike wheeled Kim’s carry-on and then dropped his backpack off to the side.
He looked at Kimberly like an appraiser inspecting a used car. “How many languages do you know?”
Without batting an eye, she answered, “Four. English, Spanish, Portuguese, and French.”
“Well?”
�
�Fluent.”
“Do you remember anything from your degree?”
“I’m blessed with a good memory.”
The man behind the desk exhaled loudly. “My name is Brady. I’m just another cog in the wheel, and there are people higher up that you will be meeting with.”
“Meeting about what? So far, I don’t want to minimize it, but the only meaningful thing that we’ve seen so far is the killing of that hitman in Vaughn,” said Mike.
“Sit down. Bixby you can go.”
Kim and Mike sat down on a couple of folding chairs.
“I’m Brady. You know that already. The people I work for are government, but we aren’t known by any abbreviation that you’ve heard before. I’ll lay it out for you simply: If you work for us, then we’ll take you off the radar—new identity—maybe even a new look. Everywhere you go, you’ll be someone else. It’s dangerous work, and no one is going to thank you.”
“I’m sorry, but this sounds like some bullshit. Why me? And why Kim?”
“It’s only you. Not Kim.” Brady paused to let that simmer. “Casper, you’ve been watched for a long time. Hard to believe, isn’t it? But someone up the chain of command thinks that you are worth saving. Maybe you got royalty in your blood.” The government agent smirked. “That’s why you’re here. What redeeming value could a street rat like you have? Please don’t answer that; I don’t need to know, and I don’t want to hear you spout out your virtues for the next ten minutes. However, once in a while, a miscreant like you ends up being less than a complete failure, but no one tells me why. In any case, and for the record, Manshu isn’t invited.”
“No. I told your man Bixby that we are a package deal.”
“Ms. Manshu.” Brady looked directly at her. “You have a life back in Belize. Correction. You had a life. If you go back, there is a possibility that a nasty guy like the one that my co-worker splashed in Vaughn could show up to see if you know anything about Casper. Chances are, they would torture you and then kill you. We can set you up somewhere else. It would be best to consider it an advanced version of witness protection, but you’ll never see Mike again.”
“I’m not doing that.” Kim was firm.
“If our division decides to let you stay, Ms. Manshu—no matter what, you can forget about going back to San Pedro for at least the next thirty years unless you get killed and go back in a box.”
She reached over to take Mike’s hand. “Will we get to stay together?”
“I can’t promise you a damn thing. Mike is already in if he wants it. You are an unknown commodity, even with your boarding school and Cooper Union credentials. Hell, you could end up being more trouble than you’re worth. I’m just telling you the straight-up truth. We don’t really welcome excess baggage.
“However, before Mike starts jumping up and down because he wants to express his chivalry, I will tell you this: If the upper management thinks you are worth more than a warm beer on a hot day, then you two could end up working together. The work is dangerous.”
Casper stared at the man. “I think getting out of Long Island was dangerous, don’t you?”
“You did good there. Three scumbags and the Clemp widow. She had it coming. Did you know that we dropped a tip to the N.Y.P.D. to search her brownstone? Guess what they found there?”
“Bones?”
“Nice try, but no. They found a shoebox with plastic baggies containing the body hair of thirteen victims. You stopped a serial killer. Congratulations. But if you went to New York right now, they would arrest you, and Bruner would have you dead in a couple of days.”
Mike was flabbergasted. “How the hell do you know so much?”
“Are you beginning to see that we are the real deal? We know shit, and we fix problems that can’t always be fixed. You pulled that off with Claire. She never left evidence. That woman would be stalking and killing for another twenty or thirty years. You erased that problem. Thanks.”
Mike wasn’t sure how to react. “You’re welcome?” He shrugged his shoulders and looked to Kim for support.
“With us, your liability and identity are gone. It goes up like smoke and vanishes like you, Casper.”
“What’s the downside?”
“You have to train hard for a year, and after that, periodically if it is required for a specific job. It’s ugly and brutal as hell. When I did it, I prayed every night that I’d die in my sleep so that I wouldn’t have to get up and do it again.
“But when you’re done, you’ll have that license to kill crap written in your file. That will only apply to people who’ve got it coming. You don’t get to decide that on your own. Your job on the psycho widow was a gift—in the future, you’ll have to follow the rules.”
“What happens now?” Kim asked. “I mean if we both agree to do this?”
“Nothing happens. You don’t get to agree to anything. First, I make a call and see if you, Kim, are acceptable. If they say yes, which is doubtful, then you’ll be on probation while you train and most likely fail miserably. If they—meaning the big people—decide that you have any value, then you’ll get to risk your life for a crappy paycheck.”
Brady pulled out a cigar from his desk. He stuck it in his mouth but didn’t light it. Instead, he removed it and stared at it longingly. “You have no idea how badly I want to light this thing.”
“So light it,” offered Mike. “I don’t care.”
“It’s called deprivation. You’ll learn that in training.” He put his cigar back in the drawer. “I can tell you that you’ll get a crack at doing something meaningful as opposed to dealing drugs and working in a slimy bank.”
Kim sneered. “What is wrong with the bank?”
“Oh, please, Ms. Manshu. How much dirty money floats through the Jefferson Town Bank? Do you even know? I do, and it’s a boatload.”
“That’s not possible!” she protested.
“Not only possible but genuine. A lot of filthy money from crooked bastards everywhere. But, until they get on our radar, they’re safe.”
Brady leaned back in his chair and nestled his hands comfortably behind his neck. He put his index finger up to his head. It was then that Mike noticed the earpiece.
The man stared at the far wall and appeared as if he was getting instructions interrupted with an occasional grunt. Then Brady looked back at them.
Casper asked, “Now what?”
“You decide to sign up. You’ve got three minutes. I’ll go for a cup of coffee, and you can tell me if you want in.” He got up, walked around his desk, and headed for the door.
“Oh. The directors up the ladder were monitoring this meeting—big surprise. If you want a chance, then you’re in Kim. I recommend you turn it down.”
They both sat there thinking the same thing. “One second,” Mike called out before the agent exited. The mustached man in the light gray suit turned back impatiently to face them.
“Is there an option other than joining your organization or going into witness protection?” Kim asked.
“I thought I’d already been pretty clear about that. The alternative is death.”
“That’s not much of a choice,” said Casper.
Brady threw his hands in the air. “Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
Excerpt from The Mike Casper Thriller Series Book Two
“I should have chosen death,” Kimberly muttered.
She struggled under the weight of a backpack laden with bricks. Simultaneously, she stepped with care around a curled-up rattlesnake. Her wavy, jet-black hair was tucked under an olive drab military cap. The desert sun turned her already genetically East African skin a shade darker, despite sunscreen. Sweat that started at her neckline had drenched her plain gray t-shirt down to her breasts. Thirst was ever-present, and her muscles ached from two months of continuous stress.
“Please find a cliff and throw me off it.”
“That’s funny, Trainee Manshu. I said pretty much the same damn thing when I went through this shit.”
“Does it piss you off that Brandy here drinks better than you?”
“Permission to use a disrespectful phrase containing a four-letter word, sir?”
He squinted at her suspiciously. “Granted.”
“Up yours.”
The old man laughed. “There weren’t no four-letter words in that.”
“I’m saving them up for the appropriate occasion,” she said while shaking out the last drops of liquid onto her tongue.
“Play time’s over; let’s move it.”
She handed him the empty plastic container and hefted her load high up onto her shoulders. Kim knew from experience that her “training” would take her to the edge of utter despair. In every direction, there were rocks, scrub brush, cacti, and more rocks. Without a watch, the only way to tell time was to guess by the length of shadows cast from stationary objects around her.
“That’s enough gazing off and daydreaming, Manshu; watch out for that scorpion dead ahead of you.”
Sure enough, a big black one was sheltered underneath a flat rock in her path. Big claws stuck out, telling her that its venom was probably relatively benign.
“Big claws. No pause, sir.”
Brandy snorted and tucked her head to the left, nearly knocking into Kim.
“I guess you’ve learned a thing or two out here. Stop and tell me what else you see.”
She stood still, gazed at the horizon, and slowly scanned from left to right. Not much was remarkable—it was the same desert that sucked out her energy and belief in humanity every day.
Just then, she saw, perhaps a kilometer away, a man. Her focus was intense. She could tell by the way he walked; despite his obvious burden, it had to be Mike. Without thinking, she raised her hand to wave and softly called out his name. Kim was desperate to drop her pack and run to him. They’d been apart for over a month. The only communication she’d had was barely audible tapping on the thick, padded, almost soundproof wall that separated their cells.