More than sixty thousand tickets, gone within an hour. It had been only through blind luck that Elyse had been able to nab a pair. She and her friend Natalie were all set to go. She was going to drive. It was going to be their first big outing since either one of them got their license.
She just had to make it until then. She had to keep taking her brother to the theater, being careful not to blow her top at his non-stop chatter.
A task that was becoming more difficult by the moment.
“I know this new girl has won an Oscar, but compared to Angelina?” Eric continued, using the actress’s first name, as if they were buddies that liked to hang out on the weekend.
Saying nothing, Elyse walked around the rear of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Hitting the automatic ignition button, she started the car, reaching out and snapping on the radio.
Instantly, the sound of the Imagine Dragons filtered in over the speakers. The song was one that had been serially overplayed of late, the station one of just a couple in the city that wasn’t pushing country music at all times.
Still, it was infinitely preferable to the extended commentary going on beside her, his analysis now threatening to run longer than the film itself.
Reaching out, Elyse turned the volume up slightly. She checked the mirrors, seeing nothing, before slowly easing back out of her spot.
They made it less than a foot before a loud popping sounded out beneath them, a small explosion right beneath where they sat. Her eyes wide, Elyse looked to the rearview mirror, her stomach dropping and her chest seizing in tandem. She smashed her right foot down on the brake, jerking the car to a stop as she stared over at Eric, the sound having finally brought about his silence.
Like her, his mouth hung agape, a faint smile pulling at one corner of it.
“What the hell was that?” Elyse asked, her voice no more than a gasp.
The smile on Eric’s face grew. “That was you getting in a lot of trouble.”
Moving on pure reflex, Elyse shot out a hand, slapping him across the chest. Jerking back, she swatted him a second time, only making it to his arm as he recoiled against the far door.
“Ow, hey, what the hell?”
“Get out!” Elyse said. Fear and frustration both pushed her voice to just shy of a shriek, basic physiology starting to surge through her. Neurotransmitters went into overdrive, dumping enormous amounts of chemicals into her bloodstream.
This was only the fourth time she’d taken the car, the first after dark. If she had to call her parents now and tell them what had happened, she may never get the keys again.
Hell, she might never leave her bedroom again.
“Go see what’s wrong!” Elyse said.
The smile on her brother’s face curled up a bit higher as he said, “You mean, go see what you hit?”
Elyse swung out a third time, flinging her hand as hard as she could, just missing Eric as he slid from his seat.
“Just go!”
Chapter Seven
Ronell was out of the car the instant that the bottle burst. As loud as a gunshot in the confines of the parking tower, the sound echoed off the polished concrete around them, reverberating through the space. Feeling his pulse rise in kind, he slammed the door of the Honda shut and tore across the garage, halfway there by the time the brake lights on the BMW flared.
A ski mask pulled down over his face, he could feel his breath catch in his chest. More sweat rose to his skin, causing the material to itch against his cheeks as he sprinted forward, his arms pumping on either side.
The rules of the initiation were simple. They had to bring in a car such as the BMW completely free from harm. They couldn’t have busted in a window to gain access, could not have ripped the plate beneath the steering column away to hotwire it.
The vehicle had to be ready to be shipped out as soon as it arrived, nothing more than a switch of license plates and the grinding away of the VIN number before it was showroom ready again.
And to make sure they could do it on command, people looking to be initiated were given one window to work with. Either they were able to go out and get a car when the call came, or the S-2 had no use for them.
Anybody could stake out an automobile and eventually gain access if given enough time.
But that didn’t pay the bills. Certainly didn’t keep their buyers satisfied.
Two long months Ronell had been waiting for their shot. At no point in that time had he gone anywhere without his cell phone, jumping each time the ringer sounded out.
But tonight was the night. At long last, it had arrived.
And this was where it all started.
The bottle had worked perfectly. The girl behind the wheel didn’t look old enough to even be driving, the car either her parents or a recent birthday gift. The boy with her was a zero factor, non-threatening in every way.
The information buoyed Ronell as he tore across the lot, closing the gap between them. Extending his strides, he chewed through the distance, watching as the passenger door swung open and the boy appeared. Bad rock music poured out with him.
A smile on his face, he circled around the passenger door, his focus on the front tire.
Not once did he ever so much as look back toward Ronell, the music covering the sound of his footfalls.
With each step, Ronell’s original assessment of the boy grew stronger. He could see the way the kid had his hair gelled into uneven spikes. The t-shirt and jeans he wore that were made to look distressed, but must have cost more than fifty dollars each.
The way he moved with an arrogance that kept him from even checking his surroundings, so used to being safe and in control at all times.
Squeezing his right hand into a fist, Ronell didn’t break stride as he charged for the passenger side of the car. He took one elongated step past the rear tire before cocking his hand back, firing an overhand right with the full force of his sprint across the garage behind it.
Unfurling like a piston from his shoulder, the shot connecting square across the bridge of the kid’s nose, shattering it on contact. Blood spurted from his nostrils and over his chin as the thin bones were ground to bits.
The young man flew back into the passenger door, the hinges on it whining slightly in protest. Reaching their limit, they recoiled in the opposite direction, depositing the boy face first on the ground, his body limp as he fell.
Using the frame of the car to brace himself, Ronell pulled to a stop. Adrenaline pulsated through his system, heightened by the moment, the shot he had just blasted at the kid. A tendril of blood snaked down from his middle knuckle, though he felt nothing, dopamine pouring into his system.
Using his left hand, he grasped the top of the door frame, lowering himself a few inches to peer inside the car. His right reached to the small of his back, extracting the .38 revolver he had stowed there. Light flashed over the stub barrel as he dropped himself into the passenger seat.
Less than a foot away, the girl sat paralyzed, her features screwed up, a host of emotions splayed across them. Looking as if she might scream, or start bawling, or turn and flee, she sat with her mouth gaping. Eyes wide, she stared at the gun, her shoulders bunched beneath her ears.
“Do not say a word,” Ronell hissed. “You do, you both die. Get it?”
The girl never took her focus from the gun. A nod was the best she could manage.
“Good,” Ronell said. “Now, you’re going to put this car in gear, and we are going to drive out of here. Got it?”
The girl sat rigidly. The corners of her eyes crinkled, her blinking increasing.
Shifting the gun to his left hand, Ronell tapped it against his thigh. He leaned her direction until his face was just a few inches from her shoulder and repeated, “I asked, you got it?”
The girl blinked harder, her eyes going glassy as moisture rose to the surface.
Ronell didn’t have time for this. The clock in his head moved steadily forward, already going longer than he would have
liked.
“And don’t you even think about that crying shit right now.”
Once more, the girl nodded, her blonde hair brushing her shoulders.
“Good. Now, let’s go.”
Once, twice, the girl’s jaw opened. For the first time, she shifted her attention from the gun, looking to the young man lying on the ground outside.
“What about my brother?” she asked.
“Oh, him?” Ronell asked, his voice betraying the agitation he was feeling. Jerking the gun across his body, he pointed the barrel toward the young man and fired a single round.
Compared to the bottle exploding, the sound was at least three times louder, causing the girl to visibly recoil.
“Drive.”
Chapter Eight
The business model was simple, one that had been employed many times in many places across the country.
Find where there was a massive influx of new wealth. Get acquainted with those at the top of the new and fledgling food chain. Find out what those in charge desired.
Make a point of offering it, on a scale much grander and more elaborate than anybody around could.
Armed with the backing of a modest fortune after the passing of his mother nine years earlier, Sirr Asai had made what was originally a pipedream into a career. Beginning in San Diego, he had worked his way east, targeting cities that were labeled as the new places for growth and investment.
Portland. Austin. Now, Nashville.
Each new stop had provided a host of learning opportunities. Ways to expand his brand. To build a system that could sustain itself even after he pushed on, searching for new markets to capitalize in.
With the advent of social media, travel websites, and the continued aging of the millennial generation, there was no shortage of future locations, no worry that he wouldn’t be able to build a hidden empire across the continent.
The only concern was that others might soon start flooding into his market, gnawing away at the service industry he’d initiated.
Which, again, precipitated the need to always be out in front, attuned to what his customers wanted.
Even when it was somewhat unusual.
And even if it meant occasionally having to find himself in situations such as this, having the discussion he was about to with men such as Kuntzman and Russo.
Settling back in his seat, Asai raised his right ankle to his opposite knee. He rested his elbows on either arm of the chair, his fingers steepled before him, fingertips pressed lightly together.
“It is my understanding that you gentlemen work together,” Asai began.
Just as he’d expected, the opening statement brought out an immediate response. To his left, Kuntzman’s jaw sagged open, the color draining from his face. On the opposite side, Russo remained a bit more reserved, a slight parting of the lips his only response.
Which was much in line with what Asai had anticipated, the exact reason he had chosen to start there. In just a few words, he told them both that he was aware of who they were and what they did without appearing threatening.
A simple statement, delivered as if reporting the weather and nothing more.
“Quite impressive,” Asai continued, not waiting for either to speak. “The top fence in the city working in concert with one of the best detectives in the area. I imagine it must be a give-and-take that rewards you both immensely.”
Of the two, Russo was the first to recover. Closing his mouth, he drew it into a thin line, his nostrils flaring slightly, appearing as if he were forcing himself not to respond.
A few feet away, Kuntzman was no longer visibly sputtering, though it would be a stretch to call him anything close to composed.
A tidbit Asai would be sure to hold onto moving forward.
“What do you want?” Russo asked.
While more direct than Asai was accustomed to – especially in his own home – he could appreciate the fact that the man didn’t bother going through the usual paces. He didn’t try to deny anything, didn’t ask who he thought he was or try to tell him he was mistaken.
Whether such posturing simply wasn’t in his makeup or he had done a bit of research on Asai and knew it would do no good didn’t much matter.
Spreading his hands wide, Asai said, “As I mentioned a few minutes ago, I have a very unusual request. In a few night’s time, my colleague and I will be hosting a gathering here. A soiree, if you will, but not the sort that is known to make the society pages of the local papers.”
Russo remained completely impassive, his body rigid as he stared back at Asai, any initial shock now well behind him.
Rocking forward in his seat, Kuntzman rose and shoved his backside deep into the cushion. Setting his hat down atop his knee, he straightened the lapels of his jacket, fighting a losing battle to appear to be back in control.
“What kind of soiree?” he asked.
Flicking his left hand, Asai gave a dismissive wave, casting the question aside. “That part isn’t important. What is are the people on the guest list.”
Pausing, he looked at each of them in turn. “And the unique ideas they have for what constitutes entertainment.”
Chapter Nine
The sound of her husband snoring carried out through the half-open door of the bedroom. A pattern that had started with a mere case of sleep apnea years before, it had escalated with age. Now on the verge of forty, it was approaching what Amber Denman liked to call a choking hyena, endless guttural clenches for air interspersed with moments that she really felt the need to check and ensure his windpipe hadn’t fully closed.
It was those pauses in between that kept her from being able to close the door completely. Although there had never been a problem of any sort, she still couldn’t bring herself to cut him out of listening range, just in case.
The doctors had said it was unlikely, but there was a chance.
Already she had lost someone near to her under the most extreme of unlikely occurrences. No way could she go through it again.
With a fuzzy blue robe wrapped around her, Amber paced the length of the hallway in their home. Her feet, encased in slippers of the same color and material, fell silent against the wooden floor as she went. In her hand was her cellphone, the darkened screen taunting her.
The kids were just going to a movie, supposed to have been back more than an hour before.
Already, five calls had gone unanswered.
Thumbing the front screen to life, Amber winced at the bright light in the darkened house. Jerking away, she allowed her eyes to dilate before looking back, seeing it was already well past eleven.
“Come on, Elyse,” she muttered. Swiping the lock screen to the side, she pulled up her call log, once more trying the most recent entry.
And just like each of the times before, the phone went straight to voicemail, not even bothering with a single ring before kicking over.
“Dammit,” Amber whispered, dropping the phone by her side. Her opposite hand she lifted to her forehead, rubbing at the loose skin, her thumb and fingers offset above her brows.
This sort of thing was why she had insisted they not get Elyse her own car for the first year she had a license. She was a good kid, but a bit flighty. Things like time management and personal accountability were still ethereal concepts in her world. Whereas some kids were playing sports or securing their first job, her biggest concerns were boys and concert tickets.
A reality that her look certainly helped to flesh out, the framed photographs passing Amber as she walked only confirming that notion.
Not that Eric was a great deal better, though he was still just fourteen, a month into his freshman year.
Trying to impart notions of responsibility on anyone that age was nothing more than an exercise in masochism.
“Come on,” Amber said, lifting the phone back up. Staring down at the screen, she considered calling Elyse again, making it just past the initial security screen before the device flashed to life before her.
Brigh
t light poured out, illuminating her face, as a pulse surged through her core, her gaze seizing on the number flashing before her.
She’d expected it to be Elyse’s. Instead, it was a string of digits she didn’t recognize, knowing only the local 615 area code and nothing more.
Palpitations rippled through her chest as she padded to the far end of the hall, the sound of her husband sleeping falling away. Hooking a corner at the end of it, she passed into the living room, the space shrouded in shadow.
As she moved, every possible entity that could be on the opposite end of the line passed through her head, each successively worse than the one before.
A lump settled in her throat, making the sound of her breathing something akin to Josh’s as she pressed the phone to her face. “Hello?”
“Um, hello, hi,” a voice said. Young and female, it sounded uncertain, as if the girl had been crying.
Definitely not Elyse, nor any of her friends.
“Is this mom?”
Amber felt her brows come together, confusion playing across her face. The top of her head jerked back as she pulled the phone away, staring at the screen. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” the girl said, a small crack appearing in her voice. “Do you have a son? Blonde hair? Maybe fifteen, sixteen years old?”
Without realizing it, Amber raised her free hand to her throat. Her eyes went wide, her entire body hit with a massive paralytic. Not even her mouth moved as she replied, “Yes, Eric. Why? Who is this?”
“My name is Lori Anderson,” the girl replied. “My boyfriend and I just came out of a late movie at the mall and we found your son.”
Bursts of heat pushed to Amber’s skin. Her heart raced, her breathing picking up. “Found? What do you mean, found?”
“I mean...” Lori began, her voice trailing away. This time, whatever she was feeling becoming too much. Stifled sobs began to filter over the line, one after another.
Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5) Page 3
