Cliff Roberts Thriller Box Set

by Cliff Roberts

  Praise for Apollo Road

  “I recommend this to anyone who is seeking a fast paced thriller.”

  “This story was intense and I was constantly at the edge of my seat and wondering what was going to happen.”

  “Cliff Roberts delivers a fresh take on the serial killer thriller.”

  “Well written thriller. A serial killer, action packed pages, and a few twists and turns, what could be better? I had a blast reading this and am looking forward to more from the author.”

  “Fast paced and loaded with unexpected twists and turns, Apollo Road is a roller coaster thriller that was impossible to put down.”

  “Apollo Road by Cliff Roberts is a thrilling suspenseful read that captured me from the very first page and had me reading well into the night!”

  “This book is full of twist and turns that you never see coming.”

  Praise for Fatal Mistake

  "Great book could not put down when my eyes got tired I had my kindle read to me."

  "Fast paced, filled with action and intrigue. I started reading the first page and didn't stop until the last paragraph."

  "The plot is engaging and surprising - especially if you like double-crossing the bad guys. The characters are interesting - and flawed, some deeply so. If you like rugged crime novels - this belongs on your library shelf."

  "The story kept you reading and the characters were entertaining because they were confident and afraid at the same time. I would love to see more from this author in the future."

  Apollo Road

  Copyright © 2015 Cliff Roberts

  Fatal Mistake

  Copyright © 2015 Cliff Roberts

  The right of Cliff Roberts to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Published 2015 by Flanagan Wale Publishing

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  For Donna.

  Once again, she puts up with my mistress when all others

  would have long ago demanded

  I stopped writing so much.

  Contents

  Apollo Road

  Fatal Mistake

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Uh, hello,” I said groggily as I tore myself awake from a blissful, dreamless, midday nap to answer the phone. It wasn’t that I was some little kid or someone who’s old and feeble; it’s just that I was struggling through a worse than usual bout of depression, tag-teamed with boredom and loneliness. It was all I could do most days to get out of bed and not slit my own wrists in the process. I was unemployed, bankrupt and about to be divorced. I think. Well, at least she couldn’t stand to be near me. Some life!

  “Hello,” I said a second time, not sure if I had heard a reply to the first hello. You know, you can’t give the telemarketers a second, because they’ll turn it into an hour, so I started to hang up.

  As the receiver was half-way down, I heard, “Have I got your attention?” It was a man’s voice.

  “Who’s this?” I replied curtly, bringing the phone back up to my ear. I figured it was just another bill collector, and I nearly hung up for good right then, while silently cursing myself for even answering it to start with.

  “I am really glad to have reached you.” the guy on the other end said in rapid, short clips. “It’s been ages! How are you? No, wait. Don’t tell me now. Tell me when we meet up.”

  “Who is this?” I asked again.

  “Yeah, right. I really don’t have time for games.”

  “I think you have the wrong number,” I stated flatly and started to remove the phone from my ear but stopped when the guy on the other end spoke again.

  “Oh, please,” the voice moaned, dripping with sarcasm. “You need to listen very carefully. I really don’t want you to become confused.”

  “Look, tell me who this is, or I’m just going to hang up!” I practically hollered into the phone.

  “You’ll see,” came the reply.

  “You’ve got the wrong number. I don’t know anyone in this town, and I don’t have time for this.”

  “Look, I’m going to be at the Apollo Road house for about two weeks, so don’t look for me at the Birch Lane house, okay? That’s the Apollo Road house. Just stop by anytime you wish. I’ll be there, unless I’m not. Okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay! Look, you’re not listening. You have the wrong number, and I’m not meeting you anywhere. Now leave me alone!” Again, I started to hang up but stopped at the sound of his voice, for some unknown reason. Perhaps I was just so lonely or maybe because I was so depressed—anyway, I stopped.

  “Oh, I can tell you’re a bit frustrated, but that’s all about to come to an end. We just need to discuss our differences and find some common ground before it’s too late. Now, I’m going to be at the Apollo Road house and not the Birch Lane house,” the voice said again, this time more slowly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shouted into the phone. “I don’t know who you are or where Apollo Road is, and I don’t care! You have the wrong number!”

  “Oh, you can’t miss it. It’s the only house on the road. And I know it’s you, and you know it, too.” the voice cryptically retorted to my outburst.

  “I’m hanging up,” I stated as I pulled the phone from my ear.

  “I look forward to meeting you. Again,” the voice cheerfully exclaimed as I let the earpiece finally clang into the cradle. What the hell? I thought as my brain raced to comprehend the call.

  I rolled over, then tossed and turned for over an hour before I finally gave up and got up. I tried watching TV for a while, but nothing held my attention. I could not stop thinking about the phone call. Why would some jerk call the wrong number, not accept that he had, and keep insisting that you meet with him in some out of the way place? It didn’t make any sense.

  I busied myself the rest of the day doing my laundry. The wife and I had long ago decided to separate our clothes and run laundry loads separately. This came about because according to her, I’m the world’s worst person—no, make that the worst person in the history of the world—at doing laundry. Yet, I always have clean clothes, and she is always screaming about having nothing clean to wear. Go figure.

  After doing the laundry, I made my own dinner, watched some TV, and said hello to the wife as she came home from work. As usual, she quickly breezed through the house en route to her bedroom, carrying take out from some rib joint or other fine southern culinary delight. In response, she said neither hello nor kiss my ass. She simply ignored me.

  The next day, I woke and went through the paper looking for work, circling the ads that might be worth checking out. Far too many of the jobs in this resort area were either part-time retail or involved working in a kitchen, neither of which I was willing to do nor had any experience at.

  Then suddenly, about halfway down the page, was a job that caught my attention. It was an ad for a salesman selling home improvements, which was exactly what I had done in the last three towns I’d lived. In fact, I had done home improvement sales for years. I was good at it, too. I had over two dozen awards for selling home improvements. The problem with the industry was far too many of the guys in the business, unfortunately, are what are known as fly by night specialists. They only wanted to get the money, and actually doing the work was a distant second place. They collected the cash during
the day and then disappeared overnight.

  I hated working for guys like that. They just wanted to get paid, regardless if they did the job or not, or if the work was any good. I tried not to lie to anyone about anything. It was just too hard to remember what you said. But you didn’t have to worry about it if you told the truth. I called the ad.

  That afternoon, I dragged myself out of the house and drove to the job interview. It was hard to get myself motivated. I just knew this wasn’t going anywhere, but I went anyway because I needed the job. I was going through the motions, including lying to myself, that I could get the job or that I even wanted the job. What I really wanted was to lie down, go to sleep and never wake up again.

  The interview went surprisingly well. The guy who conducted it was, of course, a total sleaze bag, but he was impressed by my resume and wanted me to start the following week. He promised that I’d make a minimum of a grand a week. I nodded and didn’t believe a word he said; after all, he was a salesman. Salesmen, like lawyers and politicians, are easy to spot when they’re lying—their lips are moving. Yeah, I know. I’ve been a politician, and I’ve been a salesman. Maybe I should go to law school, become a lawyer, and try for the trifecta of sleaze.

  I left the interview, dreading the probability of working for another scam artist, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a street sign. It said: APOLLO ROAD. I took the next turn around and headed back toward where I thought I saw the sign for Apollo Road. I craned my neck back and forth, looking for the road, but didn’t see it. I drove all the way back to the construction company and started over, yet I couldn’t seem to find the road again. After wasting ten dollars in gas going back and forth between the construction company and my new favorite highway turnaround, I gave up and went home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The evening passed with only a minor blowup between the soon-to-be ex-wife and myself. It was over the number of dishes I hadn’t loaded in the dishwasher. But it wasn’t really about the dishes. It was just an excuse to justify her wanting a divorce. The fact we weren’t in love any longer and my health had been going downhill over the last few years were the real reasons. She claimed she had worked too long and hard to be saddled with an invalid in her old age. It was her time now, and she just wanted to have fun. As long as she was stuck with me and my physical limitations, that wouldn’t happen.

  I was unable to go for long walks or even short ones, and I couldn’t go ballroom dancing, for sure. She hadn’t ever done these things, mind you, but she thought she would like to. At fifty years old, she wasn’t a young woman, and her weight wasn’t ideal. Okay, let’s be honest, she was fat. So, her taking up ballroom dancing and going for long walks was just a fantasy.

  In fact, she had complained continuously over the last few years about her weight, and nothing I had said about how it didn’t matter to me or that I liked the way she looked was relevant. Then she started complaining about how I looked as if my lack of fitness was causing her to gain weight. The real issue was her lack of exercise coupled with her eating burritos and barbecued ribs at midnight.

  The following day, first thing in the morning, I was served divorce papers by someone who had appeared to be a woman out sharing the good news of the Bible with people. She was dressed conservatively and was holding a Bible.

  “Good morning, sir,” she greeted me before I even had the door open all the way. “It’s a wonderful day. Perhaps we could pray together?” she inquired.

  “No, thanks,” I grumbled. “I don’t mean to be rude, but God isn’t exactly a high priority with me lately,” I responded and started to close the door when she interjected.

  “Perhaps this might change your perspective,” she stated, handing me an envelope. I grabbed it, and before I could give it back to her, she backed away from me.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve been served.”

  “Served?” I mumbled, my sleep-addled brain not comprehending.

  “I’m sorry. May God bless you,” she called out as she hurried to her car and drove off.

  Inside the envelope were divorce papers along with what appeared to be a formal notice from the court that I was to vacate the premises within a week. After twenty years and with a diagnosis of possible MS, I was being kicked to the curb! One week was all I had, despite the fact I had no money and no place to go. I was down to my last fifty bucks that I would need for gas the next week in order to do my new job, which I now had no choice but to take. Oh, I was a lucky man.

  I sat staring at the TV in the bedroom, even though it wasn’t on, lost in circular thought. For the life of me, though, I can’t recall what those thoughts were. Around noon, I ventured as far as the kitchen, where I pulled the last beer from the refrigerator and downed it without taking a breath. I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed, sad or happy as hell. I’d finally be rid of the bitch! After all, we had done nothing but fight for the last five years. We hadn’t even so much as kissed in months, let alone had sex. In fact, I couldn’t even remember the last time we had sex. I hadn’t a clue. I do remember that her idea of sex the last few years was watching other people do it. Not live sex shows, but in a romantic movie or in her mind while reading about other people doing it in a romance novel. She had said on more than one occasion, “Sex is just too messy. It’s sticky and icky. If I never had it again, I wouldn’t care.” For the last several years, I had been living the life of a celibate monk in the same house as a celibate nun, minus the religious overtones.

  A short time ago, a friend of mine had sent me a book about the power of prayer. I promptly prayed for cash, lots of it. The prayer was full of sarcasm, so I doubt the Lord listened to it, and I really doubted that my prayers would be answered. In fact, I prayed that same prayer dozens of times at the top of my lungs, standing in the dining room. It scared the dog so badly, he crawled under the wife’s bed and wouldn’t come out. He was her dog anyway, so what did I care?

  I had just lain down for one of my frequent afternoon power naps, when the phone rang. I lay there listening to it ring and ring and ring and ring and ring! Apparently this wasn’t a telemarketer because they hang up after five rings and move on. It was ringing for the twelfth time when I finally picked up. I thought it was the soon-to-be ex at first, but only until the other person spoke.

  “What?” I blurted out as I answered, not feeling much like talking, especially to her.

  “Hey, there. I saw you drive by, but you didn’t stop in. What’s up?” the voice said.

  “Who is this?” I asked, having forgotten about the crank call I had received a few days ago and not recognizing the voice.

  “Who is this? Shit, man, you act like we’ve never met before. I can’t believe you’re playing me this way. Look, I know I owe you some money, but I need to talk with you before I drop off the rest. I left the first installment in your car,” the voice said.

  “I keep telling you, you have the wrong number. I don’t know you, not that I couldn’t use the money, but I don’t know who the hell you are! You’ve got the wrong number!” I curtly shouted as I started to hang up the phone, but once again, I hesitated when the voice quickly spoke up.

  “Don’t hang up, man! I want to pay you. Call off the goons! Like I said, I left some of the money in your car. I’ll get the rest! Can’t you just meet me at the Apollo Road house? It’ll only take a few minutes, please!” the voice pleaded as it dawned on me that this was the same guy as the other day who thought he was calling some friend of his.

  “Dude, listen to me. You have the wrong number. Stop calling me!” I shouted into the phone, more pissed at life than him. He was just another piece of shit falling on me from the sky, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. I had to plan my suicide, damn it.

  “Look, just meet me at the Apollo Road house. You won’t regret it, man! The rest of the money is there, and I’ll do that favor you need done. No charge. Come on, what have you got to lose?” the voice implored.

  “Buddy, you need help. I don’t know who you
are, and I don’t care. I’ve got my own problems to deal with, and unless you can solve those, I don’t need to know you. So call someone who cares!” I shouted as I slammed the phone down. I didn’t need someone else’s shit to deal with; I had more than enough of my own.

  The phone rang again and again and again and again. I thought this guy must be really screwed up to keep calling when he knew it was the wrong number. I pulled the pillow over my head to try and block out the ringing with little success. Lying there with the pillow over my head, I thought about how once I had moved out, he would be calling and bugging that bitch of an ex-wife of mine. I couldn’t help but smile. As I sat up, I saw my face reflected in the mirror on the bureau. I was wearing a wicked smile. It was the happiest I’d looked in years.

  The phone kept ringing, begging me to answer. I finally picked it up and slammed it down, then left it off the hook. I went outside and stood staring at the landscaping. I had put it all in at the insistence of the ex-wife. She’d decided we had to have good landscaping since we were here to stay, whether I liked it or not. So, the landscaping went in, and the privacy fence went up. She even marked out where her pool was to go, leaving the actual creation and maintenance of the whole mess to me. According to her, it was the least I could do since I wasn’t working. The fact that I struggled to walk for more than ten minutes at a time wasn’t a consideration in her mind. She wanted what she wanted, and she wanted it now.

  Unable to face the phone or solitude of being alone in the house, I thought, what the hell, I’ll take a drive. It was only money. I didn’t even realize when I approached the car that the door was open. I hadn’t pushed the button on the remote to unlock it. I just grabbed the handle and pulled it open. As I slipped behind the wheel, I realized then that I hadn’t unlocked the door. I quickly thought maybe I had pushed the button out of habit and it didn’t register, but I doubted it. I always lock the door. Always. Putting the unlocked door quandary out of my mind, I jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. It coughed and sputtered, but it failed to start. After waiting a few moments, I cranked it again. This time it roared to life after a couple of coughs. This old Chevy may not look that good with its faded paint and rust spots, but it runs even worse.