by Chris Culver
Contents
Half-title
Copyright
Title
Other novels
Dedication
Deliberately Blank Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
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About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Chris Culver
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
First paperback edition February 2019.
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A Joe Court Novel
BY
CHRIS CULVER
ST. LOUIS, MO
Other books by Chris Culver
Ash Rashid novels:
The Abbey
The Outsider
By Any Means
Measureless Night
Pocketful of God
No Room for Good Men
Sleeper Cell
Gabe Ward Novels
Counting Room
Stand-alone novels:
Just Run
Nine Years Gone
Joe Court novels:
The Girl in the Motel
To Roy, my friend.
1
Nick Sumner killed people for a living, but he considered himself a salesman more than anything else. When he was a kid, everybody thought he’d follow his daddy’s footsteps and become a Southern Baptist preacher. The ministry had held little appeal for him, but he liked standing in front of crowds and talking. He had a knack for it, too. Even at twelve years old, he’d been able to crack up entire rooms full of people. It gave him an edge in his current occupation.
He shifted on his black leather seat, pointed his ass toward the kid in the driver’s seat, and farted. Logan darted his eyes in Nick’s direction. The kid’s skin was pale, and he gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. A clammy sweat had formed on his brow. He looked sick, but he was fine. He simply didn’t want to kill his girlfriend, their present job.
“Did you fart?” asked Logan.
“Nah,” said Nick, hooking a thumb toward the window. “We passed a pack of wild elephants. They were trumpeting.”
He thought he’d get a reaction, but Logan nodded and looked forward again, continuing to drive. They were heading toward St. Louis in the kid’s black BMW 3 Series. Nick didn’t know Logan well, but they had been in the car together for almost half an hour. They’d never be friends, but a little conversation didn’t seem out of order.
“Wild pack of elephants? You’re not going to say anything?” asked Nick, smiling and dragging out the words for comedic effect. “Elephants don’t form packs. They’re not Cub Scouts. That’s crazy talk. Elephants form parades.”
“Sure,” said Logan. His lips didn’t crack a smile. To do this job right, the kid needed to relax, and Nick had something that could help. He slipped his hand inside the right breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a Ziploc bag that held a joint made from a marijuana strain called Granddaddy Purple. He didn’t smoke often, but he had purchased it and a lot of other stuff from a shop in Colorado three days ago.
He lit up, inhaled, and held his joint to the man beside him.
“You need this more than me, kid,” he said. “Toke up. It’ll make you happy.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, looking at Nick again. “You want to smoke now? In my car?”
“Yeah,” said Nick. “You look like a cancer patient. If we meet Laura with you looking like that, she’ll recognize something’s up. This will help you relax and make you feel better.”
Logan hesitated but then took the joint and put it to his lips. He inhaled for a second before trying to pass it back to Nick.
“Have a real hit, kid. I’m tired of asking.”
Logan looked to his right again before inhaling for a five count. The tip of the joint burned a pleasant orange, and when he exhaled, the car filled with the grape-smelling smoke. He handed the joint back to Nick, who took another hit. Relaxing waves of euphoria washed over him.
When they finished the joint, Nick felt himself almost melting into the BMW’s supple leather seats. He glanced at Logan. Nick didn’t like working with partners—especially amateurs—but his client had insisted for this job. That was life. He couldn’t fight it.
“So tell me about your girl. What’s she like?” he asked. Nick didn’t care what Logan said, but he needed to get the kid talking to calm him down. Logan’s eyes fluttered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Her name is Laura Rojas. She’s a lawyer. She’s really smart.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-six,” said Logan.
Nick nodded to himself as he got a fuller picture of what he was dealing with.
“So she’s a smart, young lawyer,” he said. “She pretty, too?”
“Yeah,” said Logan. “She’s beautiful.”
“You screwing her?”
“None of your business,” said Logan. “Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s my job to ask questions like that,” said Nick. “We’re not driving to pay her a social call. Your girlfriend is a threat. My employers don’t respond well to threats. You’re lucky they sent me. Some guys I work with would have killed her and taken out her whole family the moment they got to town. Me, I don’t think we need to do that. Do I need to do that?”
“My stepfather tells you what to do,” said Logan. “You’re an employee. We’re in charge.”
Nick shook his head and reached into his jacket for his firearm. It was a nine-millimeter SIG Sauer P226 loaded with jacketed hollow point rounds. Upon impact with a target, the tip of the round would expand to inflict a maximum amount of trauma. They weren’t great against men in body armor, but they were lethal against soft targets. He pressed the weapon against the side of Logan’s head, any sign of conviviality gone for the moment.
The BMW swerved to the left. Logan corrected and gasped.
“I pull this trigger, I’ll blow a hole out the side of your head the size of a golf ball. I don’t want to hurt you, but neither you nor your daddy calls the shots on this job. Understand?”
“You shoot me in the car, you’ll die, too,” said Logan, darting his eyes to the right. “I’ll d
rive into the ditch or the other lane.”
“True,” said Nick, “but at least I’ll die with a smile on my face.”
Logan said nothing for a few seconds. Then he nodded.
“I was trying to sleep with her. I never got the chance.”
Nick nodded. It was a good answer. Already, he was thinking of her in the past tense. Nick took the firearm from the kid’s head and put it back in his holster. They drove for another fifteen minutes.
“So what kind of food do people in St. Louis eat?”
Logan looked at him and shrugged. “Whatever they want?”
“Yeah, I get that, but what’s the city known for? Chicago’s got deep-dish pizza, Philly’s got the cheesesteak sandwich, Memphis has barbecue. What’s St. Louis got?”
Logan shrugged again. “Gooey butter cake, maybe? Why are you asking me?”
“I’m asking because you’re the only person in the car and you grew up here,” said Nick, looking out the window. The landscape around the interstate had rolling, wooded hills with occasional jagged outcroppings of limestone. It was pretty, but Nick preferred the ocean and white sand beaches of Miami, his hometown. “Where do you get gooey butter cake?”
He shrugged. Nick smacked the back of his head.
“Don’t shrug,” he said. “Answer the question. Where do we buy gooey butter cake?”
He straightened and gripped the steering wheel. “My favorite place is Park Avenue Coffee.”
“All right,” said Nick, nodding. “We’ll take care of Ms. Rojas, put her in the trunk, and then get cake at Park Avenue Coffee. I like to try a place’s specialty when I’m in town. Gooey butter cake sounds good.”
Logan looked at him, his mouth open. “I don’t want to have cake while she’s in the trunk. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You refuse cake, and you think there’s something wrong with me?” asked Nick, shaking his head. “No, my friend, there’s nothing wrong with me. Two things I’ve learned in this life: One, you never turn down a beautiful woman when she offers you sex, and two, you can never eat enough cake.”
“You’re crazy,” said Logan.
“Some days, I think I’m the only sane man in the world.”
Laura Rojas lived in a little house in Mehlville, a suburb south of downtown St. Louis. Nick had scoped it out on the internet, but he hadn’t driven by yet. After another few minutes of driving, Logan put on his turn signal and exited the interstate.
“Have you been to Laura’s house before?” asked Nick.
“Why does that matter?”
Nick sighed, allowing his frustration to come out into his voice. “This will go a lot easier if you trust me and answer my questions. If you’ve been to the house before, it won’t look as weird if we show up to it now. If you’ve never been to the house before, you’ll look like a stalker.”
“Then, yeah,” said Logan. “I’ve been there.”
“Good. Have you got a picture of her?”
Logan reached into his pocket for his phone and thumbed through his photographs before coming to one he wanted. He handed it to Nick. Laura was more than attractive; she was gorgeous. In the picture, she wore shorts and a St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt. Logan had his arm around her shoulders, but she looked stiff, like she was hugging her brother.
Nick handed the phone back, and they drove for another few minutes before Logan turned into a residential neighborhood. The homes were brick ranches with covered front porches and single-car garage stalls. The neighborhood looked old but well maintained. It was probably a good place to raise a family.
“Laura is beautiful,” said Nick. “Did you ever wonder why a gorgeous twenty-six-year-old lawyer from the suburbs of St. Louis was visiting a college kid from St. Augustine?”
Logan said nothing, not that Nick cared. Logan screwed up; the trick was not screwing up again.
About two blocks into the neighborhood, Logan slowed and gestured toward a single-story brick home with a bright yellow door. Unlike the surrounding homes, Laura Rojas’s house had no landscaping, and her yard looked more like a field that a farmer had left fallow for the season than a manicured suburban lawn. No cars were parked in the driveway, and none of the lights inside were on.
“Pull to the end of the street. We’ll wait for her. When she arrives, I’ll do the talking. You back me up.”
“Why don’t we wait in her driveway? She knows me.”
Nick sighed and rubbed his eyes. “This girl was milking you for information about your father’s company. She doesn’t care about you. She used you, and now she’s done with you. How do you think she’ll react if she sees you in the driveway?”
“I don’t know.”
“Since I’m old and wise, I’ll tell you. If she sees you, she’ll drive by her house and call the police because she doesn’t want to deal with you anymore. We don’t want that, so we’ll stay here and surprise her. When she pulls into her driveway, you will park behind her car so she can’t leave. Then, we’ll get out, and I’ll do the talking.”
Logan glowered, nodded, and drove to the street Nick had pointed to without saying another word. There, he parked behind a big evergreen tree to conceal their vehicle. As they waited, Logan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“We won’t hurt her, will we? I mean, she may have been using me, but she was still a nice person.”
“I will talk to her and learn everything I can from her. Afterwards, I will shoot her in the heart. Is that a problem?”
“Please don’t hurt her,” said Logan. He swallowed and looked to his right at Nick. “I mean, don’t hurt her more than you have to. Make it quick.”
“I won’t make her suffer.”
They waited in silence after that. After half an hour, Laura Rojas’s red Honda pulled into her driveway. As she waited for her garage door to open, Nick tapped his young companion on the shoulder.
“Magic time. Drive.”
Logan turned on the car and pressed on the accelerator. Laura’s house wasn’t far, but by the time they arrived, her garage door was up. She had yet to drive inside.
“Park right behind her on the driveway,” said Nick. “Stay calm.”
Logan did as Nick asked, and Laura popped out of her car. She looked concerned at first, but then she saw Logan step out. She forced a smile to her lips, but she did a good enough job to fool most people—especially a college kid in love with a woman way out of his league.
“Hi, Logan,” she said. “I didn’t know you were coming by. I’ve got work tonight. How about you call me later, and we’ll get together?”
“Sorry for dropping in like this, but I’m Nick Sumner. I’m Logan’s uncle,” said Nick, stepping forward and holding out his hand for her to shake. “The kid’s been telling me all about this young woman he’s met, and I told him I had to meet her. I didn’t believe him, but you are everything he said you were.”
She stepped forward and shook Nick’s hand. Her skin felt soft, but her grip was firm.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to work tonight. Rain check?”
“Don’t worry about it. We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by,” said Nick, nodding. “I’ll tell you what. Logan and I plan to get dinner in St. Louis. You want us to bring you back some gooey butter cake?”
She hesitated but then shook her head. “I’ve never been a fan of gooey butter cake. It’s too sweet.”
Nick looked to Logan and smiled.
“I thought everybody liked it around here. You’re telling me that this young woman, a St. Louis native, doesn’t like gooey butter cake? That’s absurd. That’s unbelievable. That’s un-American. I need you to get in Logan’s BMW right now—backseat, please—and we will get some gooey butter cake.”
“Sorry, but I’ve got work to do,” she said. She turned to Logan. “I’ll call you later, okay, hon?”
“Please get in the car, Laura,” said Nick.
“I’m sorry, but like I said, I
’m busy.”
Nick pulled his jacket back, exposing his sidearm. “How’s that niece of yours, Ms. Rojas? Emma is such a pretty little girl. I’d hate for something to happen to her.”
Laura’s smile disappeared. Her skin lightened a shade.
“Logan, what’s going on?”
“Get in the car, Laura,” said Nick, his voice soft. “If you listen and do as I say, your sweet little niece and your beautiful sister will live long, happy lives. If you don’t, they’ll die screaming. It’s time for us to talk. If you answer my questions, I’ll tell my employers you cooperated. I’ll recommend that they let you go. If you refuse to talk, you’ll have a long, hard day.”
Her eyes locked on Nick’s, but she didn’t move. She had more backbone than he had expected. Good for her.
“Who’s your employer?” she asked.
“Not Logan and not his stepfather,” said Nick, nodding toward his younger partner. “And nobody you want to meet. Now get in the car, or an associate of mine will pluck out Emma’s eyeballs with an ice pick.”
Laura straightened and stared into Nick’s eyes. Then the first tear fell down her cheek, followed by another. She wiped them away and took a step back.
“You would hurt her, wouldn’t you?”
“With the greatest reluctance,” he said, nodding, “but yes, if that’s what the job required.”
She swallowed hard enough that her throat bobbed. “Can I get my purse?”
Nick shook his head. “No. But you can get in Logan’s car.”
“Don’t hurt Emma or Alma.”
“You have my solemn vow. If you do as I ask, no one will touch your niece or sister,” said Nick, walking toward the BMW and opening one of the rear doors. Laura walked beside him and sat down. He shut her door and looked at Logan, who was wiping tears off his cheeks. “Get in the car, kid. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
