I think for a minute. I look at her beautiful face, full of care and concern. I decide to tell her something. Just enough to put her mind to rest. I owe her that much. God knows why, but this woman loves me. And, damn it, I love her right back.
“Okay,” I begin. “I used to be in the military. I was a soldier and I did some… special operations, back in the day. I’m well trained and can handle myself. After I quit, I worked as a consultant in the private sector for a few years…”
I trail off as I think back, momentarily realizing that this is the same lie I told my wife and daughter to keep them from knowing I was an assassin. I feel a pang of guilt, but I continue.
“…I retired with a good pension, and came here to Texas to start over. Maybe those guys were with a government contractor or something? It’s not uncommon to hire ex-soldiers for private security firms.”
She’s silent for a moment, listening intently, processing the information.
“So, you were some kind of special forces, action hero-type guy, huh?”
“I… I guess, yeah.”
She climbs on top of me, straddling my waist and takes off her T-shirt. “That is so hot…” she says, smiling as she leans down and kisses me.
APRIL 8TH, 2017
06:31 CDT
I wake up early the next morning. The dawn light shines through my curtains like always. Tori is fast asleep, lying on her front with her arm and leg draped over me. I gently slide out from under her and pull my jeans on. I make my way downstairs and put on a pot of coffee before walking out into the bar. Styx greets me with his standard head-rub on the legs, and then wanders off to the back in search of food. I crack my neck and set about taking the chairs off the tables, ready for the day ahead.
After a few minutes, I hear a banging on the shutters from outside. I get the keys from behind the bar and walk over to open it up. Having just the saloon doors on the place, I need some proper security at night.
I lift up the shutter and see a man standing there. He has shoulder-length, dark gray hair, and a handlebar mustache. His face is rough and tired, hardened and grizzled after countless years of doing what he does. The morning sun reflects off his badge. He tips his hat up slightly, revealing his eyes.
“Mornin’, Adrian,” he says.
Sheriff John Raynor has been in charge of Devil’s Spring, I think, since God himself was in kindergarten. He’s old, but in that timeless kind of way—doesn’t matter how aged he might look, he always moves, speaks, and thinks the same way. Everybody in town knows him well. And they respect him without question. He has an old-school state of mind, much like myself.
I have a lot of time for Sheriff Raynor.
“Mornin’, John,” I reply, stepping aside to invite him in. “Early start for you, isn’t it?”
“No rest for the wicked.” He smiles a friendly but humorless smile as he takes off his hat. “Sorry to disturb you. I know you’re an early riser, so took a chance you’d be up and about.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I say with a smile. “Coffee?”
“Sure, thanks,” replies Raynor.
“Black, no sugar, right?”
‘Is there another way to drink it?’
“So some people tell me.”
“Sick bastards…”
We laugh like old friends and he follows me into the back. I gesture to a chair.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” I ask as I pour the coffee.
Raynor sits down, resting his hat on the table and taking the mug from me. “I hear there was some trouble here last night?”
I shrug. “It was nothin’, really. Just a couple of guys trying to cause problems, and they didn’t like it when I asked them to leave.”
“So what happened?”
“I made ‘em leave.”
He nods and takes a sip of his coffee. “Fair enough.”
“Why are you really here, John?”
He regards me for a moment. “A few hours ago, a white rental car was found parked on the side of the road leading out of town. One of the truckers coming in from San Antonio called it in. Inside the car were three men, all executed. Single gunshot wound to the head on each of ’em. No evidence of a struggle. Keys in the ignition, engine running.”
That’s not good. Don’t get me wrong, I lose sleep over many things, and the fact those three assholes are dead isn’t ever going to be one of them. But a lot of people saw me tussle with those guys last night… and now they’re dead, I know the good sheriff is here in an official capacity, no matter how friendly he’s being.
“Any idea what happened?” I ask.
He shrugs slightly, as if unsure about sharing his theories with me. “What do you think happened?”
I take a sip of my coffee and think about it. “Well, calling it an execution is right. I don’t know the ballistic details, but I’d guess the angle of the entry wounds supports what I imagine your current working theory is—that they knew the shooter. He probably leaned in through the passenger window when they pulled over to speak to him. You won’t find any shell casing in the vehicle, and no forensic evidence of any kind—the shooter will have worn gloves, and been met with zero resistance. Fast, accurate shooting at close quarters isn’t easy, so the guy’s a professional.”
Raynor strokes his mustache and smiles to himself before taking another sip of his coffee, but remains silent.
I shrug at him. “I’m just guessing...” I smile. “So, am I a suspect?”
Raynor stands, picking up his hat and laughing. “Christ, if your bar ever closes, I hope to God you consider becoming a deputy,” he says. “No, you’re not a suspect. If you were, I wouldn’t have had coffee with you. And if you were guilty, you wouldn’t have given me a professional, and frighteningly accurate, theory about what happened. Military?”
I nod without saying anything.
“You can take the man outta the army…” he muses. “I appreciate your time, Adrian. Sorry to trouble you so early in the morning.”
“No trouble, John—any time. You need anything else, just holla.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see myself out.”
“Take care.”
Raynor walks out and across the bar. I hear him make a fuss over Styx, who would’ve gone over to say ‘Hi’ to him. I hear the doors swing open and shut.
I turn to head upstairs and see Tori in the doorway, smiling at me.
“Was that Sheriff Raynor?” she asks.
“Yeah, he just called in for coffee.”
“Uh-huh… what’s happened?”
I smile at her. “Those three assholes from last night were found dead in their car in the early hours, on the outskirts of town,” I tell her. “Sheriff just had a few questions, as he’d heard what happened in here last night.”
“Jesus… what you say to him?” she asks as she moves over to the side and pours herself a coffee, adding cream and sugar.
Shaking my head in playful disgust, I reply, “I just told him what happened... He said he was just following procedure, and it was nothin’ to worry about.”
She walks over to me, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses my cheek. “Well, if he needs you to provide an alibi for your whereabouts last night, I’ll gladly give him a full statement!”
She winks and walks off, back upstairs with her mug of coffee. I watch her go, smiling to myself, then turn and walk back into the bar. I sit down on a stool in front of the counter and whistle to call Styx over to me. He obliges, and sits at my feet, looking up at me. I stroke his head and pat his nose, which he seems to like for some reason.
“I got a bad feelin’ about this, boy. A real bad feelin’…”
5.
21:38 CDT
It’s another busy night tonight. Phil, Nicki and Tori are rushed off their feet. The atmosphere is loud and happy, the jukebox is blasting out some classic songs, and the beer’s flowing out as the money flows in. Not that I’m here for the money, but it’s nice to know
what I’m doing is working.
I haven’t been able to shake the sense of impending doom after the events of last night and this morning, and it’s now driving me to distraction. Tori’s been great, as always. She keeps telling me not to worry, and that it was just a bit of bad luck and coincidence. And she’s probably right… It’s been well over two years since I dropped off the grid and started afresh down here. Maybe it’s just a case of old habits dying hard.
I do my best to put it behind me as I open a couple of beers for a young couple who’ve just walked in. I’ve seen them a few times—I think they’re new in town, so I make a point of making them feel welcome when they come in. So far, they keep coming back, so I must be doing something right.
As always, the night’s gone by quickly with no trouble. But I look over at the door, and the sheriff enters. With him are two men in dark suits, who look around the bar conspicuously.
Feds... They might as well wear an A-board and ring a bell.
Shit.
He takes his hat off and surveys the bar before walking over to me. “Evenin’, Adrian,” he says.
“Sheriff,” I reply with a nod. “Get you a drink?”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight, thank you. Listen… is there somewhere we can talk?”
I look at him, then at the two men with him in turn, and let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, we can go in the back.” I turn to Phil, who’s standing next to me serving customers. “You okay to watch the bar on your own for a few?”
“Sure thing,” he replies, with a casual shrug.
I turn back to Raynor. “Follow me,” I say.
We walk to the back room, and I offer the good sheriff a seat. I don’t acknowledge the two suits that are with him, and they seem happy enough standing.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” I ask.
He lets out a heavy sigh and strokes his mustache before talking. “Adrian, these boys are from the FBI…”
“I never would’ve guessed.”
“They just got here and came straight to me, asking after you. They need to—”
“Mr… Adrian, we have a few questions for you regarding the murder of three men in this town last night,” says one of the agents. They’re both standing side by side in front of the door. The one on the left is doing the talking. “Do you mind first confirming where you were last night?”
I smile to myself, thinking about what Tori said this morning. “I was in bed from about ten-thirty,” I say.
“What time did you fall asleep?” asks the other agent.
I shrug, as I genuinely have no idea. “I dunno, about eleven, maybe?”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“My girlfriend can, she was with me the whole night.”
“I see…” says the first agent. They seem to be taking it in turns. “Tell us about what happened in the bar earlier in the evening.”
I sigh, already tiring of going over it. “Not much to tell—three guys walked in, asked to speak to me. They started making trouble, and I threw them out.”
“Three guys? You threw them out single-handedly?”
“Yeah…” I say. I still don’t see why that’s so hard to believe, but never mind.
The guy on the right produces a device from his pocket. It looks like a cell phone, but it’s slightly bigger. He taps on the screen, and then turns it to show me. Displayed on it are pictures of three men. Black and white eight-by-tens, presumably from existing files they have on them.
“Are these the gentleman you evicted last night?” he asks.
I look and nod. “That’s them, yeah.”
“Our crime scene report of the shooting suggests the man in the back seat had a dislocated elbow…”
I smile. “That was me,” I say. “But if you’re looking for the shooter, you’re in the wrong place. I didn’t kill them.”
“But you threatened them?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I said the next the time they come into my bar and cause trouble, they’ll leave in a body bag. But I wouldn’t read too much into that. Confrontations like that are usually won by words and a strong physical presence, not by actual violence. I was just saying what I needed to in order to make my point.”
“But you did use violence…” says the agent on the right.
I nod again. “That’s right, but only because one of them pulled a gun on me. I grew concerned for the safety of the people in my bar, so I imposed what force I deemed necessary at the time.”
I look quickly at Raynor, who’s sitting looking genuinely sorry that he’s putting me through this.
“Okay,” says the first agent again. “You’re not a suspect for the shooting.”
“So why are you here? There’s no need to tell me I didn’t do it—I already knew that.”
“Adrian, the men that were found murdered were on our watch list. They had known links to a suspected terrorist named Yalafi Hussein. Does that name ring any bells with you?”
I shake my head.
“Not surprising,” says the second agent. “He’s notoriously camera-shy, and keeps a low profile at all times. However, he’s thought to have orchestrated multiple attacks around the world over the last few years.”
“That’s all very tragic, but why are you telling me?”
They get nervous and look at the sheriff before responding.
“Adrian, we… have your file,” says the first agent. “We know what happened in San Francisco a few years ago…”
“We understand you’ve started over down here…” says the second, looking at the sheriff again, who stands up, presumably sensing the awkward reluctance of the agents.
“Adrian, this ain’t none of my business now these boys are here,” says Raynor. “I know you’re a private person. If you’d prefer me to wait outside, I won’t take offense.”
I think for a minute. If they have my FBI file, and they know about San Francisco, then they know exactly who I am. Or, who I used to be, anyway. I don’t want any mention of Adrian Hell in Texas—I’ve worked hard to bury him, and done a damn good job. I’m not about to jeopardize that now. “Sorry, John. Would you mind?”
He retrieves his hat from the table and nods as he leaves. I watch him go back out to the bar. He’s one of the good guys, Sheriff Raynor. I feel bad asking him to leave, but it’s necessary.
I look back at the agents. “I appreciate your discretion,” I say. “Now, get to your point so I can get on with my life.”
The first agent stepped forward. “Adrian, we believe those men were here to recruit you.”
I frown. “They said they wanted to offer me a position in their organization, but I didn’t ask for more details. What were they trying to recruit me for?”
“Well, we don’t honestly know. There’s a lot of chatter about a terrorist network hiring a lot of heavyweights. If that’s true, we can only surmise there’s a large attack being planned, but we have next-to-nothing to work with. We don’t know if the CIA has any more to go on, because they’re not sharing anything with us.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Well, their files are out of date. I’m retired.”
The agent at the back steps forward this time. “Maybe it’s not as easy as you think to get out of that line of work?” he offers, sounding surprisingly sympathetic.
I take a deep breath and think about how good a point that is. “What’s the bottom line here, guys? Why come and see me?”
“Just… be careful,” says the first agent. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with here yet, but it’s likely they won’t take too kindly to being refused and then attacked. We don’t know who shot those men last night, but the smart money would be on this terrorist network assuming it was you. Which means you might not have seen the last of them.”
“Okay, well, I’m glad you fellas came to see me, and seriously, if there’s anything I can do to help you out, let me know. But don’t worry about me. I can handle myself, and rest assured, I
won’t be signing up to any extreme causes or anything any time soon.”
They both nod, and we all file out back into the bar. The agents head for the door, and Raynor, who must’ve been sitting at the bar waiting, stands to follow them. He turns to me and says, “I hope everything’s alright, Adrian.”
“You got nothin’ to worry about, Sheriff, you have my word,” I reply.
He nods and puts on his hat. “See you around.”
No one in the bar seems to have paid any attention. Except Tori. She heads straight for me. I sit on a stool and rest an arm on the counter.
“Phil, get me a beer, would you?” I ask him.
He obliges without a word, and I take a long pull on the bottle he passes me.
“What was all that about?” asks Tori as she approaches. “You alright, baby?”
“It was nothin’ to worry about,” I say, trying to sound as relaxed and dismissive as I can. “The FBI is investigating the shooting, and the sheriff thought it’d help them if they spoke with me.”
She looks at me for a minute, and then smiles. “My superhero action man working with the FBI! I’m so hot for you right now…” she winks and kisses my cheek before walking off with an empty tray in her hand. She puts an exaggerated wiggle in her hips, knowing damn well I’m watching her.
I smile and think briefly about the good times that inevitably lie ahead for me once we close up for the night. But I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to what those agents just said to me.
Maybe it’s not as easy as you think to get out of that line of work…
What the hell would a network of terrorists want with me?
I have an uneasy feeling I’ll be finding out soon enough.
6.
APRIL 9TH, 2017
05:16 CDT
I take another sip of my coffee as I sit at the bar. Styx is at my feet, looking very sleepy. It’s after five—I didn’t sleep very well. We had a good night last night—it was busy right up until closing time. Tori had dragged me to bed as soon as we'd locked up. But I can’t stop my mind from worrying about what the FBI said to me. The last thing I want to do is put this town in any danger.
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 3
