Maximus: A Harvey Nolan Thriller #1 (Harvey Nolan Thrillers)

by Abbey, S. C.

  Chapter 12

  RING RING–

  Ring ring–

  Katie reached for her cellphone on the coffee table, her eyes still closed from being half-awake. “Katieee– Moulin. Who’s there–?”

  An irritated voice answered her from the other side of the phone. “I am, and it’s where you should be too. Agent Moulin, I did not remember cancelling my 10.00 a.m. meeting with you. Or am I mistaken that you are back in New York?” The rhetorical question was left unanswered as Katie’s eyes shot open with her mouth agape. “I know it is only a regular Friday morning where most people would have left for work already but we ain’t most people, aren’t we? Or would you rather be a bank officer instead? Good salary, fixed hours, no danger of being shot at. Sounds perfect to me.” Concluded the caller with a clear tone of sarcasm.

  Katie was fully awake now from realizing who it was on the other side of the phone. She sat up from the couch she had fallen asleep, momentarily confused at why she was on it when she remembered the night before. The pizza box laid empty on the floor. “Colonel Cobbett, Sir. I’m so sorry for the blunder, I deeply apologize. Are you still at the office, sir? Give me 25 minutes. I promise I will be out of my door in 10.” Said Katie. She located the television remote she had been sleeping on and switched off the television. She jumped off the couch, deciding whether she should be brushing her teeth first or picking out an attire. Mr. Boris was fast asleep at his favorite spot in the living area.

  “That better be in seconds. I wonder how you live here. These corridors aren’t heated you know. I’m not getting any younger.” Said the caller.

  Katie froze on the way to the bathroom at the door of her bedroom. She then reversed her journey back to the couch to pick at pizza box from the floor. “One second, sir!” Shouted Katie. She frisbeed the box onto her kitchen counter and ran toward her bedroom. She pulled a brown pullover out from her closet and put it on in an attempt to look more decent. She hurried to the main door and ran her fingers through her messy bed hair to tame them.

  Katie opened the door. “Sir, I was not expecting you.” Said Katie sheepishly in a feeble effort to speak with her left hand in front of her mouth as she realized she hadn’t had the chance to brush her teeth. “Come on in.”

  An average height black man stood by the doorway of Katie’s apartment. He was stocky built and spotted a clean shaven head, his face was cleanly shaven as well. The man wore a bomber jacket and a dull silver round rimmed spectacles. In his hands were a brown paper bag and an A4 Kraft string and button envelope. He entered the apartment and strolled into the living room.

  “This is the first and last time I’m getting you bagels. Don’t get used to it.” Said the man as he placed the brown paper bag on the coffee table.

  “Please, have a seat.” Said Katie. Her face flushed pink.

  The Colonel made no such move as he surveyed his surroundings. “I’m fine where I am.” Mr. Boris had stirred awaked, unimpressed with the noise. It sashayed into the bedroom as if it owned the place. “I didn’t know you had a cat. Who feeds – oh never mind that. I’ve got to be somewhere else in 10 minutes, let’s get down to work. Remember the Sinaloa Cartel? The one you were investigating a year ago in Mexico City?” Asked Cobbett. He began to unwind the stringed envelope.

  “Joaquin Garcia? Yeah. I thought we were done with that. Gotten enough information to put him behind bars for a long time.” Said Katie, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

  Cobbett opened the envelope and looked into it. “We were. Except it’s been undone.” He pulled out two photographs from the envelope.

  “What do you mean undone? Is he dead?” Hoped Katie. Her voice betrayed her oratory optimism.

  “Far from it.” Said the Colonel as he flashed one of the photographs at Katie. A mortuary mug. “Big Boy’s dead.”

  “No shit–” Said Katie as she took the photographs from Cobbett. It was not a pretty sight.

  Cobbett looked intensely at the other photograph he was holding on to. He broke the glance and looked up. “My sentiments exactly. Three whole years of effort. Poof! God save America.”

  “All the leverage Big Boy could have brought us. Jesus.” Said Katie in disbelief.

  “I hope he saves America too.” Said Cobbett in a deadpanned tone. “But all that is history with Big Boy six feet under now. This puts us back to square one in our war against drugs, which is exactly why I am here today.”

  Katie didn’t like how the morning had started at all. She just wanted to crawl into her bed. “You need me back in Mexico City?” she sighed.

  “Good guess. But no. I want you exactly where you are right now. You see, Big Boy wasn’t killed by rival gang members or the authorities, he was murdered by his own people in the middle of town in a café in broad daylight.” Said Cobbett. He passed the other photograph to Katie. It was a CCTV shot of a café with Big Boy in it. Two men in black suits could be seen placing a suitcase on the chair next to him. Their backs were faced toward the CCTV, their faces couldn’t be seen.

  “Sources tell us that he was in the middle of a deal with some people from across the Atlantic – could be Russian or German, government or not, we do not know yet – when he was shot in the head. The contents of the exchange was never recovered. I’ll bet you every last penny I have that the Sinaloa Cartel is on their toes right now. It would be unwise to infiltrate them in the near future. Which means if we can’t jab them from the back, we have to sucker punch them from the front.” Said the Colonel.

  Katie stared at the photograph in her hands. She looked at the face of the then still alive Big Boy. She had remembered how incredibly jovial he was when she first encountered him, not a trait one would associate with a drug dealer. His booming laughter was contagious, and he didn’t restraint it often. He was the sole breadwinner of his family, a burden he had to carry but didn’t show in his demeanor. The drug dealing had helped kept his parents and siblings alive and that’s all he had cared, he didn’t care for the morality of his soul. An unfortunate product of his environment. Katie almost felt sorry he died. “The distributors.” Said Katie as the idea hit her. “Round them up and the suppliers would suffer.”

  “That’s my girl.” Said Cobbett like a proud father. “Looks like the extra snooze time did you good.”

  Cobbett retrieved the two photographs back from Katie and placed them into the brown envelope. “As usual, no copies are to be made. Incinerate them once you have memorized the details.” He passed the envelope to Katie and made his way toward the door.

  “Agent Moulin, I’m counting on you. We have already contacted the local authorities and the FBI to support you on this one. Should you fail, these drugs would flood the streets of New York City and hundreds of children will fall victim to the evils of them. No pressure.”

  Chapter 13

  HARVEY DID NOT expect the Big Top to appear so massive up close. The red flag on the highest point of the tent 60 feet above the ground it was sitting on, danced in the evening breeze like seaweed swaying in shallow waters. The setting sun, a deep marmalade disk in the sky hovered above the horizon, inevitably sinking toward it. The azure sky reflected its descent, slowly turning into a deep shade of cobalt as the pillows of cotton top clouds made way for the scattered moon dust.

  Harvey strolled under the bannered entrance into the circus. A broken looking caravan stood abandoned on the right side of it, numerous posters carelessly torn from its walls. There was handwritten sign on the side window that said ‘Closed’, though Harvey clearly see customers walking around, way past the entrance. He slipped past the empty vehicle silently.

  Harvey hiked farther into the circus grounds and spotted a few funfair game stalls, the usual classic Bulls-Eye Archery laid straight ahead on the left of the pathway while a more modern Angry Birds Knock’em Down stood farther in beside it. On the opposite were popcorn stalls, fluffy pink cotton candy, corndogs – Harvey could not see the end of it from where he stood. The grounds were r
elatively crowded with visitors drawn to the game and food stalls as it was a Saturday evening. He trailed down the pathway, careful not to walk into kids holding on to cotton candy. He did not fancy cotton candy on his trousers. He reached the Cowboy Shoot Out stall where visitors could attempt to fire air pellets using revolver air guns at a row of 5 tin cans for the price of 3 dollars. Downing all 5 tin cans would win you a free ticket to the main show at the Big Top.

  “Hey man, would like you like a go? It’s only three bucks for 5 rounds. Three bucks for 5 rounds. Down any one tin and get a free keychain. C’mon, you look like a good shot. Step on up with three Dollar-bills to grab these prizes.”

  Harvey dug into his pocket and found four crumpled one-dollar bills in which he placed three on the counter as the vendor loaded the gun. He felt the plastic revolver in his palm, the texture oddly familiar. It reminded him of memories he thought were long gong.

  It was the year 1993. His father had come back home from a month’s long work trip. He remembered rushing down the chairs at the sound of the front door closing, only to see his father in a tight embrace with his mother. Both of them were in tears of joy. His brother, a mere toddler of two, had just learnt to walk and was struggling to reach the front door as fast as he could with his short stumpy legs. Harvey had also ran down the stairs toward his parents and into their embrace. That was the only time he could remember a family hug. Fast forward to that very weekend, the family had planned to go to the circus which had happened to be in town for a week. It would be the first time Harvey had stepped into one. He remembered the first time he saw elephants, tigers, and monkeys. Tame and performing tricks. The taste of cotton candy in his mouth, the explosion of sweetness, unforgettable. His father had also won three plush toys from the Cowboy Shoot Out stall, where the stall owner had disgruntledly parted with.

  “Sir, ill-luck. You missed every single can. Can I entice with another shot?” Asked the vendor. His yellow teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he attempted to smile, but failed – he looked like a predator flashing its fangs at a prey instead.

  Harvey shrugged his shoulders before he started to walk away. “Perhaps another time.”

  A stone ring around a campfire signaled the end of the pathway. There was something strangely comforting about staring at the scorched embers in the flames in a cold winter night. It was as if one could actually feel the warmth it radiated, despite the illogicality of it given the physical distance. Two sizable cages on wheels flanked the far side of the campfire, a good 20 feet away from it. Inside these cages housed two American black bears – a species native to Northern America. One laid sideways with its back facing the front bars of the cage and was peacefully sound asleep, the other paced within the cage from side to side restlessly – it looked like it was hungry. A group of children of varying ages were having fun kicking a homemade crushed paper ball around the campfire. They seemed unfazed by the close proximity of the black bears behind them. They must belong to the circus performers who lived in the tents within the circus grounds.

  “Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?” Said a deep but gentle voice. “The children of course. Not the bears. We treat them as though they are so fragile all the time. Like a paper boat, guiding them through the harsh stormy seas of reality. Yet they have always proven to be much more malleable and flexible than us. We almost seem to have forgotten that their very purpose in life is to replace us eventually. And hopefully, a better version of it.”

  Harvey kept his eyes on the mesmerizing fire as the low voice washed over him like the sea washing up ashore on a warm afternoon. He finally broke the visual captivation he had with the campfire and turned his neck to the direction of the gentle voice. The owner of the deep voice was a tall man who looked like he was in his mid-forties, but somehow Harvey was sure he was older than that. He was dressed in a dark raisin tail coat with matching trousers tucked into knee high black cowboy boots. The faded patina on the leather on the well-worn boots displayed signs of wear and tear. A bright yellow cravat drew attention to the neck it concealed, framed by a short pointy beard. A fresh satin top hat topped the look. A pair of steel-grey eyes trailed toward the group of kids, its gaze was anything but cold. It then turned to settle on Harvey.

  “Where’re my manners? Deacon Novak, at your service.” Said the man. He bowed in a mock salute. “I’m the Ringmaster of this circus. And these children are my heart and pride.” He placed his hands on his hips as he glanced toward the running children. One blonde haired child licked sand off his finger and his face shrank in disgust.

  “Mr. Novak?” Said Harvey. His face registered a look of puzzlement. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes, Professor Nolan. If I’m quite right?” Affirmed Deacon. “The dressing was a dead giveaway. Christina often spoke to me of you.”

  Harvey eyes widened at the shrewd deduction of the Ringmaster. It somehow gave him some comfort that he was on the right trail. “Have you seen her lately, Mr. Novak?” Asked Harvey, convinced Deacon would know. “Her family’s been looking for her. She’s missing.”

  “My apologies Professor Nolan, I’m afraid my answer to you would be the same as what I told the cops. I was supposed to meet her last Thursday evening before my show but she never answered her phone. I just supposed she was busy. Didn’t think much of it till the cops turn up at my tent three days after.” Replied Deacon. “I’m sorry I cannot help you.”

  Harvey breathed a long exhale, frustrated with the lack of progress in his search. He opened his mouth again, planning to speak, but found himself interrupted by the now familiarly deep voice.

  “Oh look at the time. It’s almost show time now. The Big Top show cannot do without a Ringmaster, I’m afraid.” Said Deacon as he slipped his gold pocket watch back into his coat’s front pocket. “I regret the circumstances we were forced to meet in Professor. Many people past through this gates, I will keep my ears open and try my best to find Christina as well.” Deacon said. “Betsy! Up girl.” A small capuchin came out of nowhere and rapidly climbed up the Ringmaster like a coconut tree. It stopped at the shoulder of Deacon Novak and squatted. The ringmaster awarded the monkey with a peanut which Betsy snatched zealously from his palm. He then flashed a fatherly smile at Harvey.

  “Good evening, professor. I’m sure we will meet again.”

  Chapter 14

  CHAINS RATTLED. THE sound of metal clashing signaled the movement of a lock mechanism.

  “Miranda? Miranda! Are you okay?” Yelled Christina. Her frantic voice echoed in the quiet dungeons. “Please be okay. You have to stay strong.”

  Christina’s voice bounced off the damp walls of the underground facility and faded into the darkness. After an angel’s passing, a soft timid voice spoke. “He was so rough this time. I have never seen him so foul before, even for him. Someone must have pissed him off.” It paused. The soft sound of dripping water deafening in the silence. “I’ll be okay.” Said the voice. “You? Feeling better today?”

  Christina shivered as she recalled at the memory of the night before. She could still feel the touch of his filthy cold hands on her skin. The sense of betrayal and her disbelief had not lessened despite of it. She found some courage to answer Miranda. “I don’t think I can feel remotely positive about anything as long as I’m stuck in this godforsaken place, but yeah, I’m alright. I’m not gonna be broken so easily by that son of a bitch–”

  Miranda sat up from the position she was dumped on the floor but winced at the pain. She settled for a half reclining posture. She looked out of her cell through the iron bars toward the opposite cell where Christina was kept. She could see Samantha lying on her bench behind Christina, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. She tried and managed a weak smile at Christina.

  “How’s Charlotte doing? Is that fever coming down? I swear, she’s not gonna make it unless she gets some medical attention.” Said Christina. Her attention now transferred to a sleeping figure behind Miranda.

  “I would check on her except
I don’t really think I can move right now. This is going to take a few days to recover.” Said Miranda, wincing again at the pain. “Charlotte? Charlotte, are you alright back there?” Asked Miranda in the direction of the sleeping figure. “I don’t think she’s conscious, Christina. She was in the same position when I left. I think she’s fainted.”

  “That’s it.” Said Christina. She had grown quite attached to Miranda and Charlotte as these are the only two people she gets to interact with besides Samantha. “We’ve got to get her to a hospital.”

  “They will never allow that.” Said Miranda. No hope could be sensed in her soft voice.

  “Hey! Anyone there! Help, we need help here!” Yelled Christina as she continued to scream into the abyss. “Help!”

  Her plea cries were met with no replies but she did not give up. She carried on shouting, positive that somebody would come down eventually. A good ten minutes or so had passed before the sound of footsteps were heard. Christina recognized the rhythm of the gait and started to call out again.

  “Keep your mouth shut before I pull out those pretty teeth of yours. If I hear another sound coming from you–” Said the bald man as he walked toward Christina’s cell.

  “Please. It’s Charlotte. She needs to see a doctor. She’s not getting any better in this wet dungeon.” Begged Christina. She felt a little disgust from stooping so low to beg this man for help but knew it was for Charlotte’s sake. “Please, you’ve got to help her.”

  The bald man turned as he gazed upon the unmoving body of Charlotte Jones. “She looks asleep.” Barked the man, unconvinced.

  “Look at her, please, she’s sweating bullets.” Pleaded Christina. Her impatience with the situation grew. “She needs medication and warmth. Or she will die.”

  The scarred face man let out a roar of laughter. The sudden crackling sound of it painful to the ears from the quietness of the dungeon. Christina could hardly believe his reaction from her statement. He unhooked a ring of keys from his belt loop and opened the gate to Miranda and Charlotte’s cell. He walked toward Charlotte. Christina stood up in concern. “You! Wake up. Don’t play games with me, you understand? Wake up.” Said the man as he started to unlock the metal cuffs to Charlotte’s wrists. He then lifted Charlotte like a broken rag doll onto his shoulders and carried her out of the cell. Miranda looked helplessly from the floor.