Geek Mafia: Mile Zero by Rick Dakan (best fiction novels to read .txt) đź“•
"If you can spare it, it'd help. I've already doled out all my cash on hand to secure the place and get the liquor. But we still need..."
"I know, I know," said Paul, handing the money to Sandee. "Let's just try and make tonight kick ass so we can earn that back as quick as possible."
"We should be flush by dawn, my dear," Sandee assured him. "Just you wait."
"That's the plan anyway. But would you explain that to Chloe for me?"
"What is Chloe doing tonight, anyway?" Sandee asked. "I was hoping to get her to come out with me and check out the new help at the Hyatt."
"She's busy getting everything set up for our visitors. She's kind of freaking out about all the little details."
"Oh my, are they coming in tonight? I thought that was next week."
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Chloe was about to sprint clear of her hiding place behind the car as soon as he disappeared out of sight. Except he didn’t disappear. He wasn’t going into the main building but was instead walking along the perimeter, past the boats on trailers. Chloe moved along her side of the street, crouched low and paralleling his course. He made his way past the last of the boats to the row of two dozen wet slips where they kept the large boats. If he got on a fucking boat, he was gone and she couldn’t stop him.
Unlike the boats in the main marina she’d just come from, no one stayed overnight here. They were all locked up and dark. But he probably had a key for one of those as well. Chloe watched from across the street and contemplated her options. He was obviously hurt. His right hand hung useless at his side and he walked with a painful looking limp. She could probably take him. The fence had a little barbed wire at the top, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She was about to tear her shirt into two pieces she could wrap around her hands for protection when she heard a voice from across the way.
“Hello?” the killer said, his voice cracking a bit on the second syllable. She looked over and saw him standing beside a big old stained and cracked fishing boat, the least impressive of the vessels in the wet slips, although one of the largest. “I need a hand here,” the man said.
Chloe saw that there was a gap of about two feet between the deck of the boat and the dock, and the man didn’t think he could make it across in his wounded condition. She heard a muffled voice reply from inside the boat and gave up any thoughts she might have had of vaulting the fence. Not without knowing who she was facing. “I’m all messed up,” the killer shouted to the boat. “Come give me a goddamned hand, will you?”
A man appeared from below, and light streamed out onto the deck of the boat from inside. Chloe realized that the portholes were blacked out from inside so perfectly, that no light escaped through any cracks within. Perfect for smuggling she thought. The man from inside the boat came over to the gunwale across from the killer and held out his hand. He said something, but it was too quiet for Chloe to make out from her vantage fifty feet away. The killer took the hand and, with a grunt, made the step across the gap and onto the boat.
But as he stepped down onto the deck he stumbled. The other man was there to catch him however, preventing him from falling. In the process, the boat’s owner turned his body so that Chloe could get a good look at his face.
“Oh, fuck…” she whispered. It was Winston. The man on the boat was Winston.
She was about to shout a warning, fearing that the killer was there to assassinate her mentor. But no, now she saw how they interacted. Her friend was looking at the killer’s injured hand, examining it like a doctor might. And then the two men smiled and laughed like old friends. Offering his shoulder for support, Winston propped the wounded man up and led him back below decks into the warmth of the cabin light. Like friends. Like old, fucking friends.
“Fucking, fuck, fuck,” Chloe said, as she thought through all the implications of what she’d just seen.
“Fuck.”
PAUL collapsed onto the couch in the living room, while Sandee went into the kitchen to get some ice. Bee came running down the stairs almost at once, a cell phone in each hand. She took one look at Paul and froze in her tracks.
“Oh my God, Paul!” she said, and ran over to him. “What happened?”
He had a huge knot forming in the middle of his forehead and a cut that was bleeding over his left eye. And although Bee couldn’t see it, he also had the worst headache of his life. “I got beat up a little,” he said. “Just a little though. You should see the other guy.”
“The killer?” Bee asked.
“He’s a mean one,” said Sandee, coming out of the kitchen with a towel and a tray of ice cubes. “Mean and vicious and now, I think, a little crippled.”
“That’s good,” said Bee. “Then he probably can’t hurt Chloe, right?”
“Hurt Chloe what?” Paul asked, trying to focus. “Where’s Chloe?”
“She went after you. You and him. She went to find you guys. I told her where you were…”
“Can I have a phone?” Paul said as he reached out to take the one in her left hand.
“Sure,” said Bee. She put the other phone in her pocket and helped Sandee wrap up some ice cubes in the towel.
Paul dialed Chloe’s number then stopped, remembering that they’d stopped using their normal phones. “What’s the number for Chloe’s phone?” he asked Bee.
“Her phone’s dead,” Bee explained. “I think maybe something happened with that crazy girl she went to see.”
Paul sat up and, trying to ignore the rush of dizziness, he started to stand up. But Sandee eased him back down onto the couch and placed the ice pack against his forehead. He winced. “We need to go find her,” he insisted.
“Where is she?” asked Sandee.
Paul took the ice pack from his hand but continued to press it against his head. The cold was starting to seep through, and soon the numbness would come, which would be a nice change from the throbbing pain. He turned to Bee. “I don’t know. Bee, where is she?”
“I sent her over to the library, because that’s where you were.”
“Well, there’s no one there but cops now, probably,” said Paul, relieved.
“And an ambulance,” Sandee added. “Neither of which are likely to entice her to stick around very long. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Can one of you get me something for this headache?”
“Sure,” said Bee. “How strong do you want?”
Paul considered his options. Their household pharmacy was stocked with everything from Tylenol to Darvocet. “Nothing that’ll knock me out. We’re not done tonight.”
“Tylenol 3?” asked Bee. “It’s only got a little codeine in it.”
“A little codeine sounds about right,” Paul agreed.
Bee went upstairs to get the drugs, while Sandee took the rest of the ice back into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water. He gave one to Paul and then sat back in the easy chair, closing his eyes.
“You really kicked that guy’s ass,” Paul said.
“I really did, didn’t I?” said Sandee, a slight smile on his face as he reclined. “I haven’t been in a fight in, God, almost three months.”
“Does it count as a fight if he doesn’t hit you back?” asked Paul.
“Oh, he wanted to hit back, I just wouldn’t let him. That makes it a fight. Plus, he did hit you.”
“And stabbed that woman,” Paul pointed out. “Whom I saved by the way.”
“Did you? That was sweet. Why do you think he was trying to kill her in the first place?”
“That’s the big question,” said Paul. “And I have no freaking clue. Although it does make it seem unlikely that they were working together, doesn’t it?”
“Pretty unlikely,” Sandee agreed.
Bee came back with the pills, giving two to Paul and then, when he asked for it, one for Sandee. He wanted to calm down a bit, he said. Bee reported that there was no movement on the big board. No sign of Chloe or Raff or anyone. Then a small black box clipped to the waist of Bee’s jeans emitted a low beep. She looked down at the PDA-style display and touched a button. Then she said, “Chloe’s here.”
Paul had enough time to sit up before the front door opened and Chloe walked in. She looked like hell - damp clothes, scratched knees, dirt everywhere like she’d been crawling on her hands and knees through a jungle. Her face looked like she was carrying the worries of the world in her brain. “Hey, babe,” he said, “Looks like your night’s been as good as mine.”
She looked at him and her eyes widened. “Jesus Christ, Paul. What happened?” she said, rushing to his side. He had to admit that, now that the drugs had deadened the pain a bit, he was kind of enjoying all the sympathy and attention.
“Sandee and I got into a little scuffle with our killer,” he said.
Chloe poked and prodded gently at his wounds. “Fuck, what did he hit you with, a crowbar?”
“It felt like it,” he said.
“He’s a vicious bastard,” Sandee chimed in. “Good with his hands.”
“Not as good as Sandee though,” Paul pointed out.
Chloe nodded as if this statement explained a lot. “Few people are,” she said. “That explains why he was limping and couldn’t use his right hand when I followed him.”
“You did follow him?” Paul asked. “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” she said with a gentle smile that sank into a frown. “Actually no, I’m not. He didn’t hurt me but I followed him. I…” she trailed off.
“What is it, hon?” Paul asked after a few seconds of silence. “Where is he?”
“He’s on a boat over at the bight,” Chloe said. “He got onto a boat.”
“So he’s gone to sea?” asked Sandee. “If only my heel hadn’t broken…”
“No, I don’t think so. The boat didn’t go anywhere that I saw. But I did get a good look at whose boat it was,” she paused, like she was looking for the words. “It was Winston.”
Paul was stunned. His first thought was that the killer had gotten Winston too. But as soon as the thought flashed through his head, he knew that was wrong. All of a sudden the pieces started falling into place in his mind. Jeanie hadn’t been in the garden to meet the killer. She’d been there to meet someone she knew, maybe someone Raff had described as an old friend. Winston. He’d set her up and then told the killer where to find her. And he’d known she would be off balance and under-protected, because they’d briefed him on the entire situation right here in this house. And if Winston was working with the killer, then he must have been involved in Raquel’s murder as well. That left a bunch of questions, the biggest one of which was:
“Why?” he asked. He looked around the room and saw that Bee and Sandee were both as shocked as he was. Chloe took a seat on the couch next to him and he put his arm around her, drawing her close.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It doesn’t make any sense does it?”
“No,” agreed Paul. “It really doesn’t.”
“So what’re you guys saying?” asked Sandee. “That the killer works for Winston? That old guy who was just in our house a couple hours ago?”
Bee jumped at those words, shouting, “Oh shit! I’ve got to check everything!” She ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
Sandee started to say something else, but Paul and Chloe both put their fingers to their lips at the same moment, silencing him. They sat in silent, unmoving contemplation on the couch while Bee came down
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