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

by Abbey, S. C.

  “At least visit me then!” said Zoe. “You know the kids miss their Aunt too. When was the last time you’ve seen them?”

  Katie did not reply.

  “Sigh, promise me you will make the effort, ‘kay?” said Zoe, dejected.

  “Alright, Zoe. I promise.”

  “I take your word for it.” Said Zoe, her spirits a little more lifted as a ringing sound came from her side. “One moment.”

  Katie could hear Zoe speak on another line but could not make out any tangible words until she heard ‘thanks’.

  “Okay Katie, I’ve just gotten confirmation that the meeting today is firm at 1.30 p.m. I’ll send you the names I have. Should I contact the local authorities on this?” asked Zoe.

  “No, keep it between us for now.” Katie replied. She knew what she had to do. “I’m planning surveillance on this one. No engagement will happen today, if I can help it.”

  “Katie, stay safe alright?”

  “Okay Zoe, catch you later.”

  Beep.

  Zoe stood fast after the call ended, her mind still occupied with the memory of the day her mother had shouted at her. He is still your father. And if I choose to forgive him, who are you to tell me otherwise?

  A text notification sounded on her phone and she intuitively brought it up to read it. It was a text from Zoe.

  ‘Francis Spencer White, Doug Meechum.’

  Chapter 25

  HARVEY LOOKED FONDLY at the back view of Katie as she walked out of the Glasshouse. Like moths and flies drawn to light, he did not do it intentionally, the cranial muscles just had a mind of their own. He continued to be fixated in that direction long after she was gone. The image of her slender hips swaying burned in the back of his mind like a silver halide film exposed to photons. He was momentarily distracted by the movement of Thomas entering the room as he cleared their plates.

  “Still as mesmerizing as she was, isn’t she? Age has not wearied her one bit.” Commented Bertram.

  Harvey returned his gaze to his now missing plate, staring at the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He then cocked his head toward Bertram, as he had seemingly just registered the obscurity of his comment.

  “I–”

  “You thought I didn’t know.”

  Harvey once again found the table fascinating. Except this time, he looked like a kid who had just been caught for shoplifting a dirty magazine.

  “I knew ever since the summer she had stayed over in the final year of your graduate school, Harvey. Despite the story about her fight with her parents and not wanting to live in their house, which I still believed to be true by the way, and that she would rather spend the summer with her best friend. I concluded that it was in spite of the latter.”

  “Well, accurately speaking, she had spent the summer with the both of us.” Retorted Harvey feebly. “It wasn’t like it was my own place.”

  “You know you can’t fool me right? I’ve been staying in this house for longer than I should, I know everything that happens under these roofs.”

  Harvey brushed off the immediate thought that came to his mind.

  Bertram paused for a second before he continued. “Did you know who the architect who designed this magnificent house was?”

  Harvey shook his head, relieved in the change of topic. He looked at Bertram with a genuine look of curiosity.

  “His name was Sir Reginald Theodore Blomfield, a distant cousin of my grandfather’s. He was a prolific British architect, garden designer and author who split his time between Sussex and London, where he designed several beautiful country houses, many of them still standing today. The First World War put an end to most projects he had been engaged, and after it ended in 1919, his practice never returned to its former glory. This house was the last building he ever designed when he came to visit the New World, of which the only he ever dedicated it to his wife, Ann Frances Mary Blomfield.” Bertram said. “They never had the chance to live in it.”

  Thomas reentered the room with a fresh pot of tea and a set of new Shelley China teacups. He proceeded to pour the orange blossom tea into the beautiful picturesque pottery and placed them in front of the two masters of the house. Bertram added two sugar cubes into his with a pair of silver mother-of-pearl tongs.

  “Harvey, this is a house of love. You know I have always treated you like a son. I care for you like you were my own. I watched you cry in your room the night you graduated. I had never seen you like that before and have never seen it since.”

  “We were kids, Bert. It was really nothing more than young love.”

  “And you aren’t anymore. Don’t you still feel the same? Tell me, when was the last time you felt the same with another? When was the last time you truly dated another girl?”

  “She chose to focus on career. She chose to move to Washington D.C., even though she said she would never want to live in that city again. And the second time, that was unforgivable.”

  “In hindsight, it wasn’t really that far away you know. But that’s history. What’s important is that she’s back for good now.” Said Bertram.

  “I guess I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was too. People always tend to find something else to blame and give themselves more credit.”

  “Life doesn’t always give you second chances you know. By the time you realized it, you would be an old man like me, too late for regrets.” Bertram said as he lifted his cup and took a sip from the tea that was still too hot. He did not seem to be bothered by that fact. His eyes looked straight passed the top of the rim in a serious ponder that Harvey have almost never witnessed before. Bertram’s eyes then softened undeniably at a memory of his, one that he had thought been buried long ago in his treasure trove of never to retrieve again memories. They shimmered with a sheen of moisture. Harvey could not tell whether it was from the steam from the orange blossom tea.

  “Life is but a fleeting moment, make it spectacular.” said Bertram, his both hands cradling his tea cup.

  The side door out to the backyard slammed as Katie entered the Glasshouse passed a Pygmy Date Palm.

  “Sorry for that, duty calls.”

  Harvey and Bertram looked at each other with a knowing look.

  “Shall we resume our breakfast then? Thomas, do we still have that Victorian Sponge cake you baked the day before?” said Bertram, beaming in the heightening sun with no trace of his earlier melancholy.

  “Sir, I believe there is still enough for five servings.”

  “Very well, what you say kids, ready for dessert?”

  “Professor– Bertram, I’m afraid I cannot stay for dessert, as enticing as it sounds. It was an analyst from office.” She said, leaving her cellphone in sight. “I’ve got a drug dealer to deal with right now.”

  “I didn’t know Interpol agents make arrests.” Said Harvey, puzzled at what he was hearing.

  “They don’t. I mean we don’t. We usually engage in intelligence collection and infiltration, and leave the heavy lifting to the local authorities.” Replied Katie.

  “What is this business about then?” inquired Bertram.

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Our intelligence tells us that a Mexican drug cartel, the one I mentioned earlier, had been exporting cocaine using kidnapped women as drug mules to a number of unknown drug distributers here in New York City. The one that I’m on then uses college students to peddle these crack on the streets.”

  “College students? What a twisted perversion.” Said Bertram as he hammered his fist down on the concrete table.

  “Yeah, and I’ve just got a tip that two of them are replenishing their trolley, so to speak, this afternoon, I even got their names right here.” Continued Katie. “Francis White and Doug Meechum.”

  The mention of the names made Harvey look up swiftly as if he was in a contentious mood. He clenched his jaws and swallow his saliva. His surprised expression slowly turned into a grimacing scowl.

  “Francis White? Francis Spencer White?”


  “That’s right. You know him?” asked Katie.

  “He is one of my students this semester. I even know his sister, a good friend of mine.” Said Harvey, his scowl deepening.

  “What?”

  Harvey folded his arms and leaned back into his seat. His eyes were no longer focusing on Katie.

  “Where is this meeting taking place?” asked Bertram.

  Katie contemplated whether she should answer the question or not. She did not want to compromise her work after all. “Port Chester Yacht Club, 25 miles off the city.” She relented.

  “I’m coming with you.” Declared Harvey as he returned his attention to Katie.

  “Harvey, you know I cannot allow that.” Katie said, shocked at Harvey’s inappropriate request. “It’s official business.”

  “And you would be heading to this alone?” asked Harvey, his arms still folded in defiance.

  “It’s only going to be a surveillance mission. No point catching a few street peddlers, I plan on uprooting the whole network of distribution.”

  “Then all the more I’m coming with you.” Insisted Harvey and took a quick glance at Bertram. Bertram returned his eye contact. “This is my student we are talking about. Besides I have a strong feeling that this has got to do with a missing friend.”

  “Harvey–“

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it along the way.” Said Harvey. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get going!”

  Harvey stood from his seat and straightened his jacket. Katie gave a long sigh of defeat.

  “Bert, the food was delicious, I’ll definitely take you up on the steak pies.” Said Harvey as he prepared to leave the room with Katie.

  “I guess this is farewell for now then.” Replied Bertram in a downcast manner.

  “I’ll see you soon enough.”

  Chapter 26

  AN EMPTY PINK plastic chair sat in the sunshine on the dock next to the Red Lion, its red and white hull dancing to the rhythm of the sea. Its owner was nowhere to be seen. The cloudy afternoon did not help filter the blazing sun in the sky, it was an abnormally hot afternoon considering it was the start of winter. Francis and Doug approached the front of the yacht hesitantly, looking for a sign that the owner was in it. He always frightened them in a creepy way. Not that they have ever seen his face. He wore a black knitted burglar mask all the time that concealed his entire face, including his mouth. Only his eyes were exposed from the two small eyeholes in it. Doug bear-hugged the black duffel bag with his arms, as if he was breastfeeding a baby. The bag felt heavy, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. It was filled with the money they had made from the previous batch of cocaine they had purchased from the man in the boat. It was the most cash he had ever held in his life, his palms sweat in his gloves, reflecting his state of mind.

  “Captain?” whispered Francis. “Anybody there?”

  “Master White, Master Meechum, you are late.” Accused the voice mockingly from the back of the boat. Doug jerked his head toward the sound of the voice.

  “What are you doing at the front of the boat, come by the back. And stop making so much noise, you tryin’ to wake up the whole town?” Instructed the Captain as he disappeared back into the craft.

  Francis and Doug lurched forward at the command and plodded along the length of the boat to the back of it. Doug froze abruptly and tugged on Francis’ upper arm before he could step onto the stern of it.

  “Frank, I don’t know man. The Captain freaks me out, man. And besides, remember that time we had to run with that much crack in our pockets just because we saw the flash of a patrol car turning by the street? I’ve never been more frightened, man. It’s only a matter of time before we get caught.”

  “Stop being such a puss– Doug, you were the one who got me into this in the first place, don’t you walk out on me now bro. I hear what you’re saying man but I‘ve never had so much money in my life. Look, we just have to be extra careful. One last deal and we walk away, just one last one. Deal?”

  Doug still looked as uncomfortable as before but he nodded his head anyway. There was just too much money involved to call it quits. The money was like a drug and they were addicted to it. Francis gave an affirming look to Doug and kicked himself off the dock onto the stern of the yacht. He scuffed across the floor, unused to the rocking of the craft. A sudden dip of it signaled that Doug had boarded the boat as well. They pushed through the door in front of them and entered the room. The Captain looked up from the couch he was sitting on, a glass of bourbon laid in front of him on the coffee table. As usual, he was wearing his mask.

  “C’mon, bring me the bag. We ain’t got all day.” Said the Captain.

  Francis took the bag from Doug and staggered forward. He dropped the duffel on the floor in front of the Captain.

  “This is all for the bunch, Captain.” Francis declared. “We managed to finish selling all the cocaine you gave us by mid-week. Didn’t even took us much effort, to be honest.”

  “Thirty-five grand, cash.” Doug continued. “Sales has been a brisk man. Those crack heads just can’t get enough of your stuff.”

  The Captain picked up the duffel bag and unzipped it in his lap. He arranged the stacks of cash on the coffee table in front of him and when he was done, he started counting them. “Don’t be too complacent. This won’t be forever. The authorities got their eyes on us, boys.” Said the lean man in his usual amused voice. “Just got word from across the border where this stuff comes from. They are having some internal issues with some governments. Better watch your back, boys. They will come for us sooner or later.”

  Doug swallowed a gulp of his saliva down his throat, he did not even realized he had been hold on to it. Francis just stood where he was with a frown forming on his face. He seemed to be rather perplexed with the whole conversation. The Captain continued to count the stacks of bills until he was done with the whole lot. He swept them back into the duffel bag with his left arm and zipped the bag up. He rose from the sofa and strolled toward the front of the yacht. He lifted two fingers and signaled at the younger men to follow him.

  “Come, let’s get a puff.”

  Doug and Francis followed the Captain into the raised front deck of the boat, like sheep following their shepherd. The Captain leaned by a railing and pulled the bottom half of his mask up to reveal his mouth. He took off the glove on his right hand and popped a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with a cheap plastic lighter. He exhaled a long breath of smoke. He did not offer a cigarette to any of the boys.

  “How long have you all been doing this for me?” He asked.

  Francis fidgeted with the Buck Folding Hunter in his pocket, his fingers tracing the pattern of the wood. It was the first thing he had bought from the first batch of crack he had peddled. He knew that since he had chosen this life of roaming the back alleys, the pocket knife would come in handy one day for sure.

  “Five weeks, Captain.” Doug replied. “One hundred grand worth of cocaine, we have sold on the streets.”

  “One hundred grand, indeed. More than any of my other runners.” The Captain said, smirking as he continued puffing on his cigarette. He did not care when the ash fell on his hand. “I think it’s time for our partnership to end. I cannot risk using the same people for too long.”

  Francis held his ground and did not speak. Doug looked confused at the sudden twist of events.

  “And I regret to say that it is also time for you boys to move on.” The Captain continued casually, as if he was talking about the weather. “Sorry boys, dead men tell no tales.”

  Doug took a step back at when he realized what the Captain meant, his eyes widened like saucers. Francis on the other hand closed his gap between him and the Captain and pulled out the pocket knife he was playing with, and flipped open the blade. His face looked calm and serious but his hand holding onto the knife betrayed his emotional state. It shook badly as he held the knife up, pointing it toward him.

  “Doug, grab the money.” Comma
nded Francis in a deadpanned voice. “I said go in and grab the money!”

  A deep rumbling laughter erupted from the Captain as he looked amusingly at the two boys. He fearlessly stood closer toward Francis and Francis responded by taking a step back.

  “What are you gonna do, boy? Stab me with that toothpick?” The Captain said as he continued to laugh wholeheartedly. He looked like he was positively enjoying the bit of resistance. Doug continued to be frozen where he was standing, entirely ignoring Francis’s barks at him. The Captain flicked his cigarette into the water and drew a 9 inch military knife from his boot. He held it in a reversed grip between Francis and himself, his thick muscular arm pulsed in the daylight.

  “Play time’s over, boy. Don’t worry, this will end very soon.” Said the Captain as he lunged forward.

  “Stop! I said stop–”

  Francis could not react to the voice that was coming from behind him before he felt a body crashing into him from the side. He could see the military knife moved in a smooth arc at his eye level before its tip barely kissed the side of his left cheek. His own pocket knife skated across the wooden deck.

  “God damn it, Harvey!” yelled Katie as she pointed her semi-automatic pistol at the masked man. “Freeze! Drop your weapon!”

  The Captain straightened up and looked as if he was about to comply with his arms dangling by his side. He however took a quick turn toward the railing he was leaning on earlier and flung himself over it. Katie fired a round. She could not tell if the bullet had hit its target. She dashed to the front of the boat and looked over the railing. All she could see was the waves hitting the yacht. “F–”

  Harvey rolled into a sitting position and pulled Francis toward him to see if the Captain’s knife had found its target before settling on the trail of blood from his cheek. He sighed in relief. He pushed himself off the ground and grabbed Francis by his shoulders. “What in the world were you thinking?” said Harvey, a vein pulsing by the side of his forehead.