Vigilante Investigator Series Box Set

by Eden Sharp

  I attempted a demure smile. Not that I was sure how any human being was meant to respond to something like that. It was equivalent to reviewing an Apple Mac and saying it came in a nice box.

  ‘And what kind of business are you in?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘I mean, apart from charity work.’

  He looked even more appreciatively at me then as though I’d scored another point on some kind of personal check list of his.

  I glanced across at Charlie and caught a glint of fury in his dark brown eyes which ordinarily held an even gaze. Rare to anger, if Charlie held a grudge against you, you’d be the last to know about it. He had no need to lose his cool. His abilities made it easy to play you anyway he wanted at a long game. Except it appeared, not in this case.

  ‘If you’re anything like Charlie,’ I said, ‘you probably talk tech and boring computer stuff all the time. What do you like to do for fun?’

  Guzek shifted forward in his seat, brought his elbows up on to the table, clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop them. He had a self-satisfied look on his face and I thought he was going to start preaching about his own virtues and that it might take a while and possibly the duration of the meal. I was wrong.

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said.

  His flirtatiousness was nauseating and disrespectful to Charlie who, as far as Guzek was concerned, was my boyfriend and, additionally emasculating as he was Charlie’s boss.

  I shrugged. ‘Shopping, going out with girlfriends, or to the spa.’ One out of three was accurate at least.

  ‘Outside of work,’ Guzek said, ‘I’ve dedicated myself for the past twenty-five years to the martial arts.’

  His tone was one of hushed reverence as though he was describing something sacred. I knew the type. Something in me snapped and made me want to stray a little from the script.

  ‘I’ve done a little karate myself,’ I said.

  I was expecting Guzek to ask me what grade I had acquired and when I said black belt for him to start talking about dans and other such assorted dick waving.

  Instead he said, ‘Yes. A gold and silver in the world championships. Wasn’t that your reason for being in Japan when you two first met?’

  So he’d done his homework. I wondered how much he really knew.

  ‘Yes. Charlie and I trained together.’

  I entertained a brief fantasy about the two of us kicking the crap out of him right there and then.

  ‘I’ve made a serious study of Kung Fu, Shotokan Karate, Judo, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, Arnis, Kendo, and Hapkido but was exposed to Ninjutsu fifteen years ago and that is my real true love. It combines all the striking, grappling, kicking, locks and weapons with the heart and soul. For me it goes way beyond the physical and combat aspect even though BJJ is probably all you’d ever need in a street fight,’ Guzek said. ‘I enjoy sparring with fellow enthusiasts and demonstrating the subtle nuances of each art but of course I would never fight a woman.’

  I was more than capable of fighting a man. Charlie would have been the first to admit that I could easily kick his ass as a sixteen-year-old girl and he had been pretty good. Even so, if Guzek was for real and with this range of technique, I knew I didn’t want to fight him.

  By the time we finished eating I’d been proved right with my original supposition that Guzek was into self-aggrandizement. He had carried on talking about himself throughout the meal.

  ‘I’ve had so much good fortune,’ he said. ‘And this isn’t meant to be common knowledge but Hudson Binomics is merging with a much larger corporation called Sytectronic. We’re holding a reception to formally announce the deal at their headquarters on the 19th.

  I realized Paul must have known about this. He had mentioned that the share price would be rising when he had used it as a cover story to get me involved. I looked over at Charlie and then placed my hand on Guzek’s forearm. I gave it a squeeze and him my brightest smile.

  ‘We’d love to come,’ I said.

  I wasn’t sure if there had been an invite on offer but there was a pause as if he’d been momentarily thrown by my brazen behaviour. Then he returned a smile.

  ‘I’d be honored if you could attend,’ he said.

  I excused myself and headed for the bathroom while the check was being settled and hoped Guzek didn’t stiff the waitress.

  I skirted along the front of the restaurant near the windows and waited until I was out of view to get a good look at what was going on outside on the street. Externally there was nothing, no vehicles with eyes on the place as far I could see. From a nearby vantage point at a lesser eaterie however, I spotted a familiar face.

  Knox wouldn’t have been able to park nearby due to restrictions so had most likely abandoned his car in an underground garage and decided he’d be less obvious traveling on foot and by cab if necessary. From the reasonably-priced burger joint diagonally opposite from where we were eating lunch, he would be able to grab a bite himself while he waited, and be sure to see us leave. Smart move.

  He would be pissed at the thought of me socializing with Charlie outside of scheduled meet times no doubt and probably be questioning who this other guy was but I hoped he would figure I had a good reason. In any case I would make it up to him at his birthday drinks tomorrow night.

  29

  Thursday May 11th

  I wasn’t due to collect the passports until later on in the day so took the luxury of sleeping in. It felt good. My mood had definitely improved by catching a few extra hours.

  By late afternoon, I wandered into my kitchen which was empty of food as usual but which always had a stock of good coffee and soya milk which kept well enough in a cupboard. After recaffeinating I was ready to go and had the concierge get me a taxi.

  First stop was a supermarket. The nearest was down on fourth but I wanted a place with a larger selection so I had the driver head over to a Safeway near Fillmore Street. He went a longer route than I would have taken via Howard and Hayes and fifteen minutes later dropped me off to pick up what I needed.

  I concentrated on not arousing suspicion. I didn’t want my caution over being followed to result in being tagged as a shoplifter. I made eye contact with members of staff as I passed and then stopped paying them any further attention focusing on the merchandise instead. Knowing what they looked for made it easier and I didn’t intend to spend any time in corners where it was harder to be seen either. Being white, female and respectable-looking helped although, to be completely invisible, as a woman it was better to be over forty.

  There was a whole psychology to shopping perfected by marketers to upsell at every opportunity. The endcap displays advertised the most popular products, but down the aisles the second and third shelves from the top, at eye-level, were where the higher-priced items or those with the biggest mark-ups were stocked. The bottom shelves were reserved for over-sized and bulk items and the store brands.

  I put a couple of logical items in my basket, a jar of pasta sauce and some ready-to-bake bread but now I wanted a top shelf product. This was where the smaller and gourmet brands were stored as these companies hadn’t the budgets to pay for more favorable placement or the turnover was slower.

  I found the brand of dried boxed pasta I was looking for. At eleven dollars a pound the justification had to be more than it was imported from Italy and came in a cute, brightly patterned box. I could imagine an ad agency guy talking about mountain water, extrusion though bronze dies or a slow drying process.

  The rectangular packaging was around an inch and a half deep. There wasn’t a lot of product inside but it was easy to pick up. I selected two boxes from the back selection of five and slipped the envelope wedged in between them into my inside jacket pocket before placing the pasta in my basket and heading to the registers.

  I was pretty sure I hadn’t been followed but as soon as I turned into Fell Street the hairs started to go up on the back of my neck. It could have been paranoia but the passports felt like
I had molten lava in my pocket. If I got caught with these we were all going down and my life would be over. I had a code - decide your own terms, exact your revenge and live strong or die trying.

  If there’s one thing that’s been proven to be true to me over and over is you should never ignore your instinct. Sometimes it’s just a whisper but that should always be enough.

  I didn’t identify anything out of the ordinary for the first five or so minutes then I caught an outline that was familiar, someone I’d already seen in the past hour. I was nowhere near where I’d been earlier. What were the chances that after such a short amount of time had elapsed I’d coincidentally be in the same place as a recent stranger?

  I had to trust the feeling and that I wasn’t going mad. I could feel myself shaking, I imagined my jacket was transparent, the damn envelope a beacon broadcasting a signal like Kryptonite. I was definitely planning for the worst.

  I saw the outline again, read shortcut for a tail. I wasn’t being paranoid I was being followed. I increased my stride trying to speed up while still trying to look like I was strolling. A sick feeling started in the pit of my stomach and I suddenly felt very cold. It was like something very bad and very inevitable was marching in my direction and I could do nothing to head it off or stop it.

  I headed back around the block to Fillmore. Mixed in with an eclectic row of stores was a vintage record boutique for hipster vinyl collectors although they also sold CDs. I’d bought a couple of hard to find albums in the past so I knew the layout of the store. There was no convenient exit out the back and into an escape route but I was thinking on my feet and my tail was closing in fast.

  The old-fashioned bell caught as I burst open the door and I slowed down hoping I hadn’t drawn too much attention to myself. There were only a couple of browsers in the store and the guy at the desk. I strode over to a rack of rock and metal taking a quick glance through the window as I turned sideways on to it. I’d probably been seen going in but no one was following me inside and I hoped they’d wait outside rather than risk being obvious. That was dependent on what they wanted of course. Of that I had no clue.

  I flicked through the CD racks, grateful that the majority had cover designs which meant the artists name and album title was printed in the top right-hand corner so they were easy to pick from at a glance. I picked one out and also grabbed an old vinyl copy of Dark Side Of The Moon. I figured it would be a good present for Knox but one he’d have to wait for. I did a quick check to scope through the window and out on to the street again then turned my back and tried not to look too suspicious as I retrieved the passports from my inner jacket pocket. I grabbed a hold of the envelope and slipped it inside the album between the inner sleeve and outer cover and made my way to the register. For some reason I was counting seconds under my breath as though I could predict at the exact moment someone would burst through the door after me and I would be done.

  A selection of gift wrap rolls lay on a shelf behind the cashier. Normally I would have greeted the guy working the register and made small talk, instead I put the CD on the counter and handed him the vinyl explaining it was a gift and that I needed it wrapped immediately. I took a pen from next to the register and a business flyer for the store and wrote an address on the back, said please mail it here. I apologized for being in a hurry, gave him a meaningful look and slid over a fifty buck note in his direction, telling him I’d being paying by card. He held my gaze for a second or two before ringing up the purchase.

  I made myself slow down and take my time while I put away my card and took hold of the CD. I explained I didn’t need a bag for it and slipped it inside my jacket. I watched while he quickly wrapped the vinyl and placed it under the counter.

  No one came in the shop as I walked what seemed to be my last steps across the checkered floor and out the door. The bell rang loudly again. I couldn’t see anyone lurking. I slowed down because I didn’t want anyone going into the store and asking questions. I then questioned the wisdom of me paying over the odds. It was sure one hell of a way to be remembered.

  I walked across the street, diagonally away to what I thought was a safe enough distance and made like I was window shopping, looking in at a display of hipster clothing. No one was going anywhere near the record store as far as I could tell. I told myself to calm down and consciously worked on slowing my breathing.

  I moved away and started to feel my legs getting heavier as I got myself under control and allowed my body to start to come down. I got as far as the next block when a car pulled up to the curb and a guy I hadn’t yet reached stepped out of a doorway to my left.

  My brain switched off all unnecessary processing, time slowed and I anticipated that there would be the muzzle of a gun pushed into my side and in one practiced movement I’d be swept across the sidewalk staggering and straight into the back seat of the car.

  A nanosecond before drawing level with him I registered the briefest motion of his right hand moving up from his side. I shot out my left hand in a straight line, putting the side of my index finger at the side of the weapon and while pushing in a straight line to my right I allowed my left shoulder to advance. The movement, along with me pressing my weight forward, took the gun off my body and parallel to the floor. I hammered it down and burst forward with my feet into a fighting stance. I kept my weight on the weapon and punched his face with my right hand, recoiling and sliding my hand along my body to avoid the line of fire. Reaching down, I grabbed the pistol at the back of the slide, rotated it sharply through ninety degrees and heard his finger snap as I broke it away from his grasp.

  All the while I’d been worrying about what was coming out from the car behind me but I hadn’t had the opportunity to look. I whipped back intending to cover both danger zones with my newly acquired weapon but was grabbed under the arms and dragged backwards in a full nelson with my upper limbs forced straight out to the sides.

  I clamped my elbows down to try and loosen this new attacker’s grip and guarantee that I could keep him close. He lurched forward into me and I pushed my hips out to the left and stepped back with my right foot which put it behind his left. I punched my knee forward, removing him from his base and drove my upper body backward and down landing heavily on top of him. I managed to connect my elbow with his head and we traded blows as he tried to simultaneously defend himself and disarm me.

  Instinctively I knew I had to get to my feet, that going to ground put me at a disadvantage. I tried to disengage and he grappled me back down by grabbing at my jacket. For one random moment I was aware of my shopping bag and pasta boxes lying on the sidewalk and wondered why no one had intervened. But the whole event had probably taken less than a minute and had not yet fully registered with passers-by.

  He grabbed the gun, flipped me over and as I turned I arced my leg and landed a solid kick to his head. He seemed to shrink away and then I was up and running. I didn’t stop for at least two blocks, zigging in and out of side streets until I was far enough away to realize I was safe.

  It didn’t make any sense for the Feds to grab me off the street and I got the feeling that whoever these guys were they’d been keen to make a hasty retreat. In any case they’d failed. All they had was some overpriced sheets of lasagne. I patted down my pockets. And an overrated Monsters of Rock CD.

  30

  John Knox

  It was official. Knox was thirty-years-old. He was feeling old and a little sorry for himself. His only family, his brother Dan, was vacationing with his fiancée in Italy, Mike and Jeff were currently the only buddies he had available to celebrate with. And McGlynn. How was he going to get her to level with him? And who was surveilling her? The FBI? Did they really believe she was involved in some scheme with Lau? Was she? Should he tell her she was being watched or did she already know?

  Birthday drinks did not make a suitable occasion to have the chat he needed to but sooner rather than later they were going to have it and screw the outcome. He needed more intel for sure. He’d wa
it until the evening was almost over, when the alcohol had kicked in good and they were both a little high and insist she talk to him.

  Maybe there was a feasible explanation for everything. He just needed to watch her reaction. Note any resistance. Actions before words. After that, maybe he would have to make a call to Harding. Maybe he would need a new line of work. Maybe he’d be thirty

  and back to the same old problem of making a life outside of the military.

  The bar had been Besson’s idea and Knox had not been sure what to expect. Tucked away down a side street in the Financial District and looking at it from the outside, the old brick building in Gold Street had a good vibe.

  Inside, the high-ceilinged, two-tiered bar was hopping. Velvet and leather banquettes surrounded a central space with cabaret tables and all the available space was already filling up in anticipation of a live jazz band scheduled to perform on a small revue stage at the far end of the room. The dark wood and orange lighting gave the place a homely feel.

  Knox spotted Kelly amongst the other patrons sitting at the bar but otherwise alone. There was one spare spot next to him that Knox figured Kelly would have been valiantly intimidating people away from taking. His size had always meant a look was enough.

  Kelly pushed back the seat and motioned to the barman. ‘Beer and a Jack on the side.’

  Knox fully approved. ‘Thanks.’

  Kelly pointed to the stage end of the room. ‘Live music later from local musicians.’

  Knox wondered if that meant Besson bringing his slide guitar for a jam session. He could see the place’s appeal and a reason it may have been chosen.

  ‘Jeff and Angela not here yet?’

  ‘Besson’s on his way,’ Kelly said.

  ‘How about Angela?’

  ‘Thought she’d be with you. You’re the golden boy.’