Ames To Thrill: Three Full-Length Gripping Mystery Thrillers

by Dan Ames

  “I know who did it. His name is Miles Lucas.”

  “Got it. Okay. Let me send a squad car over to pick you up.”

  “You don't believe me.”

  “Sure, I do. I really do. Now tell me, where are you?”

  She looks at the cell phone, suddenly dead in her hand.

  “Shit.”

  She speaks to the uniformed officers next to her.

  “I want units at his home, his office, his parents home, anywhere he might be. Now! Go!”

  52

  Vincent puts the phone down, and pulls his gun from his waistband, he checks the magazine, and the chamber.

  His head snaps up as a sound is made just outside his office door.

  Quickly, he crosses the room and stands next to the door. Slowly, the door swings inwardly and a dark shape enters. Vincent clocks the figure with his gun, then whips an uppercut and a right hook that sends the figure to the floor.

  The figure's face is revealed. It's Douglas Eves, the reporter. His face is covered with blood.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Sorry.”

  Vincent races down the steps and out the door.

  Eves touches his face and his hand comes away bloody.

  53

  A dingy apartment complex in a run-down neighborhood.

  Vincent knocks softly on the door of Apartment 114. There is no answer. With his gun drawn, Vincent tries the door, it's locked.

  He looks up and down the hallway. It's empty. He rears back and kicks savagely at the door. His heel leaves a huge gouge in the door, but it stands firm. With savage purpose, Vincent rears back and kicks the door, then again and again and again. At last, the door splinters and Vincent pushes it open.

  Vincent works his way through the apartment in complete darkness. His gun is in his hand. He sees a light at the end of the hallway and slowly works his way toward it.

  The last room is a bedroom, with a single bed and night table. There is a framed picture on the table with a small light spotlighting it.

  Vincent picks up the picture.

  It is a soldier in Iraq. Vincent stares at the picture, remembering.

  He is eighteen years old, is an American Marine. Even under a thick coating of camouflage face paint, his good looks are evident. He has dark hair, deep blue eyes, a strong chin and high cheekbones.

  His helmet is camouflaged and he is laying on the ground, on his stomach. Vincent is holding a detonator and an M-16.

  The rest of the men in his unit are spreading out, assuming positions that could only mean one thing: an ambush.

  Luke Miller, twenty years old, is in charge of the operation. He is a hair shorter than Vincent, but more than makes up for it with broad shoulders and a thick chest. Luke crouches down next to Vincent, whispering.

  “You know what’s expected, right? Tell me they taught you at least something in Basic Training.”

  “I know.”

  “Remember, they'll outnumber us, so we need to get them when they're out in the open.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You've got a man on each side of you, about twenty yards off.”

  Vincent looks and sees the men, also so heavily camouflaged it takes him a couple seconds to pick them out.

  “And I'll be close, too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don't call me sir.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don't say you're sorry.”

  Vincent looks straight ahead.

  “I'm fucking with you, Keyes. Just relax, do your job, and we'll get you through your first night patrol and back to camp in one piece, okay? We probably won't see anything anyway. You've been in the shit for a week now?”

  “Four days.”

  “Four days and your cherry's still intact?”

  Vincent nods "yes."

  “Don't worry, in this unit she'll get popped faster than a whore in a cow camp.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Miller looks at Vincent, shaking his head at the sound of the word "sir," then moves off.

  Vincent scans the forest beyond the path ahead, then looks on each side of him.

  It is clearly later in the night, and Vincent is in the same position, but starting to fall asleep. Suddenly, a soft rustling sound snaps Vincent out of his dozing.

  “Fuck.”

  He peers into the darkness ahead. Gradually, the forms of men begin to appear. They are moving slowly, cautiously.

  Vincent looks on either side of him. He catches the eye of one soldier who shakes his head very slowly, getting across the message, "not yet."

  Vincent looks back at the path. The first enemy steps onto the path. When nothing happens, the others step out, too.

  Vincent has raised his M-16. His hands begin to shake.

  The men on either side of Vincent have raised their rifles, but now both of them are looking at Vincent.

  Luke's face appears next to the soldier on Vincent's left. Slowly, he begins to crawl toward Vincent, whose shaking is so bad that his equipment, the ammo belt, the rifle, the water canteen, are starting to make noise.

  Luke is about ten yards from Vincent when Vincent finally manages to press the detonator. His hands are shaking so badly, though, that he he fails to set off the explosives and instead simply makes noise.

  As one, the enemy soldiers whirl toward the sound and begin firing.

  Luke dives for Vincent and tears the triggering device from him. He hits the right buttons, and an explosion rips through the night.

  He turns to Vincent to say something, but as he does, he is shot in the head. Blood and brain matter spray onto Vincent's face.

  Vincent stares, going into shock as the sounds of gunfire and explosions, screams and curses erupt around him.

  54

  Vincent is staring at the picture. The man in the photo is Luke Miller, Vincent's commanding officer during the failed ambush in which Vincent froze. The same ambush in which most of the men in Vincent's unit were slaughtered.

  Suddenly, the phone rings. It rings several times as Vincent stands still in the darkness until the machine picks up.

  “Hi, it’s Miles. I can't come to the phone right now. Just leave a message at the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  The machine beeps. There is a beat, and then Miles Lucas' voice comes back on. But this time, it isn't a recording.

  “Vincent.”

  Vincent nearly jumps at the sound of the voice.

  “Come on, Dr. Keyes, I know you're there. Remember how I said it's easy to keep track of someone with a few high-tech toys? Well, I know you're there. I also will know if you try to call the cops when we're done here, okay? Pick up the phone.”

  Vincent crosses the room and takes the phone off the hook.

  “Let them go, Miles.”

  “Now why would I want to do that?”

  “I know who you are. I know why you're doing this. This isn't going to bring him back Miles. Your father died in Iraq, you're not going to bring him back by killing me or my family.”

  “Yeah, that's probably true. But you know, I'm having an awfully good time.”

  Vincent reconsiders his approach.

  “Is that how this all makes you feel? Good? That's it? You're going through a lot of trouble, you must be disappointed.”

  “Fuck you, Doc. I've had enough of your psychobabble. Listening to your bullshit about visualization techniques. God, you are a pompous motherfucker you know that?

  “You seem to be the one craving attention.”

  “All right, I'm through fucking around. I'm proud of you, Doc. You've come a long way from that incident in your car where Rachel had to turn off the ignition because you were too chickenshit to do it. God, you were pathetic, quivering like a schoolgirl. Just like old times, huh?”

  “That's what's you want? To see me scared?”

  “And you did well figuring out it was me, I must say. Could you tell it was me by the way I swung the crowbar? Yeah, I figured that
was it.”

  “Miles. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to trade my daughter and ex-wife for me. Once you let them go, you can do with me what you will.”

  “Nice try. I can already get you to do what I want and still keep them. The thing that interests me is if you can pass the next test. I'm going to kill them both in the next half hour.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, yes. I'm going to kill them unless you come here and stop me.”

  “Where?”

  “That's part of the test, too, Doc.”

  “You are sick. You need help.”

  “I just want to see you try to overcome your anxieties, your phobias about performing under pressure. Look at it this way, if you try but don't succeed, at least you tried. That's really a victory in and of itself. For you, at least.”

  Miles laughs.

  55

  Vincent looks around the apartment, spies Miles' crude desk: a coffee table piled with bills.

  Most of the bills are from the Valley View Tennis Club.

  Vincent looks through more bills, but comes up with nothing else. He looks again at the address.

  56

  Annabel and Bonnie are huddled together in the corner of a locker room. There hands are bound, but the duct tape has been removed from their mouths.

  “We have to try to get away. He'll kill Daddy. Just like he did Rodney.”

  “Stay positive, honey. We'll get out of here. The police have to know we're missing by now.”

  “Mom, we have to try.”

  “I know. I've got the tape on one of my hands loose. But be quiet, just in case he comes back.”

  “Mommy, are we going to die?”

  “No. We're not going to. Your father taught me how to do this, visualize ourselves getting out of here. Be positive. Talk yourself into doing it. We have to believe in ourselves.”

  57

  Detective Ponko is in front of Vincent's house. There is an army of squad cars surrounding the house.

  Ponko's superior, Lieutenant Reynolds, approaches. He is an older man, gray hair, and a ruddy complexion.

  “Talk to me, Detective.”

  Ponko consults her notebook.

  “Sir, a unit just discovered the body of a Rodney Olis at Keyes' ex-wife's house. Name is Rodney Olis. Apparently he was the new man in Keyes' ex-wife's life.”

  “Shit. At least it wasn't another sports star. The media are already chewing our asses.”

  “There's more.”

  “There always is.”

  “A unit at Keyes' office said the doctor beat the shit out of him, and took off running with a gun. We've got an APB out on Keyes. He is armed and dangerous.”

  “This guy is one nutcase. And a shrink himself! Go figure.”

  “Not so fast, Lieutenant. I think there's a good chance Keyes isn't the psycho here. He gave me a name.”

  She checks her notebook.

  “A Miles Lucas.”

  “He's giving you a red herring. It's him. It's Keyes.”

  “I haven't ruled it out. But I checked out this Miles Lucas. This kid's been in and out of mental institutions all his life. His father was killed in Iraq. Here's where it gets interesting, sir. His father served in the same unit as, care to guess?”

  “Keyes.”

  “It was a unit that was almost completely wiped out.”

  “So it doesn't matter if this kid is the main guy or not, because Keyes could be setting him up.”

  “Yes, he could.”

  “Either way, we gotta find them both.”

  “I've got a unit going to Lucas' last known address. They'll radio me the minute they find anything out.”

  “Let's hope it's soon. I've got a bad feeling in my gut about this one.”

  She pinches the roll of fat around the Lieutenant's stomach.

  “Really? How can you tell?”

  58

  Vincent walks to the front door of the tennis club. He checks the parking lot. It is completely empty.

  The front door is ajar.

  Pulling his gun from his waistband, Vincent enters the facility.

  Vincent walks through the reception area. A desk is vacant, and next to the desk is a pro shop. Racks of clothes, and tennis rackets adorn the walls.

  All is dark.

  Annabel and Bonnie, their mouths duct taped shut again, are walked slowly to a tennis court in the dark. The killer walks behind them, the muzzle of his gun pressed firmly against the base of Bonnie's skull.

  Vincent walks through an exercise area. There is a Nautilus system, free weights, treadmills and Stairmasters.

  He steps around a corner and hears a voice. He drops to the floor.

  Crawling slowly toward the sound, he moves down a short hallway and peeks into another room.

  It is a racquetball court. And next to the court is a television, with an announcer talking.

  With their backs against each other, Annabel and Bonnie are forced to sit down directly in the center of a tennis court.

  The killer takes the tape off of Annabel's mouth. With his gun pressed against her temple, the killer speaks to her.

  “Your daddy's here, hon.”

  “Mommy.”

  Bonnie tries to answer, but she can only manage a muffled comment through the duct tape.

  “Call your Daddy, darling. He'll come running and save you from the bad man.”

  “Daddy,” Annabel says softly.

  “You're going to have to speak up, dollface.”

  “Daddy,” she says again, a little louder.

  “I hate to have to do this, I'm really anti-violence. But if you're not going to work with me, you leave me no choice.”

  Miles takes a knife from his waistband and puts it against Bonnie's cheeks. He presses hard enough so the point sinks into her skin, and a small rivulet of blood starts creeping down her face.

  Annabel screams at the sight of the blood.

  “That's better,” Miles says.

  He then disappears into the darkness beyond the center of the court.

  59

  Vincent hears his daughter screaming, and starts running toward the sound.

  60

  Detective Ponko is riding in Lieutenant Reynolds' squad car. She is on the cell phone.

  “No sign of him? The door was open?”

  She listens for a beat.

  “Keyes was there. Any sign of where they might have gone?”

  She listens.

  “I don't care if it's just a hunch. The Valley View Tennis Club? Give me the address.”

  61

  Vincent bursts through one of the side doors that opens onto the tennis courts. He races straight to Annabel and Bonnie.

  “Daddy, watch out!”

  Suddenly, the lights are switched on, and the entire court is bathed in bright light.

  Vincent turns and Miles Lucas is standing along the back wall, his hand on the light switch. In his other hand is a gun, pointed directly at Vincent.

  “Drop the gun, Vincent.”

  Vincent places the gun next to him on the ground.

  “Step away from them.”

  Vincent responds accordingly as Miles approaches.

  “I'm proud of you, Doc. You made it this far. I gave you just enough credit to figure this much out.”

  “Let them go. Put a bullet in my head right now.”

  Annabel whimpers.

  “Just let them go. They have nothing to do with your father's death.”

  “How dare you even mention my father. The man you killed with your cowardice. You make me sick.”

  Bonnie is working her hands, trying to get them free from the duct tape. Annabel is crying now, sobbing.

  “Believe me, I've never forgiven myself for that. That's why I studied psychology.”

  “So you could strut around, acting like a celebrity? Helping these athletes like Vicki Lee and Demetrius? You're suddenly an expert on staying cool under pressure. What a hypocrite. Do you have any idea what it was
like to see you interviewed as this master of icy nerves, knowing all along that it was your cowardice, your choking, that killed my father?”

  “I don't know how it felt. I do know how I felt.”

  “You're the reason my mother and I were put out on the street. She became a junkie and I got my ass kicked every night by her junkie boyfriends. And you're some rich shit in a big house.”

  Vincent is silent as Miles regains his composure.

  “You were a boxer before you went to Iraq, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell you what I'm going to do.”

  Miles circles around and forces Vincent to step back, away from his gun, then he puts down his own gun next to Vincent's. He is now between Vincent and the two guns.

  “Everything is on the line now, for you. The only thing standing between you and your lovely daughter is me. The pressure's on, Doc. Can you do it? Can you stay cool enough to-“

  Without warning, Vincent charges Miles. Miles easily sidesteps the attack and kicks Vincent in the face. Vincent straightens up and Miles executes a picture perfect karate kick that knocks Vincent backwards. It's obvious Miles has been trained in karate.

  “Not too good, so far, Doc, but remember, stay positive.”

  Vincent gets to his feet and the two men circle each other warily.

  “You're going to die an even worse death than Demetrius. Did you like how I chopped off his hands? Right in your living room. I almost enjoyed that as much as watching you dry hump Rachel.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Vincent swings at Miles, who steps inside the punch and throws three fast body punches to Vincent's midsection. He then elbows Vincent in the face, and Vincent goes down. Blood is flowing freely from his nose, which looks broken.