by Dan Lawton
TITLE PAGE
DECEPTION
Dan Lawton
COPYRIGHT
DECEPTION. Copyright © 2015 by Dan Lawton. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidences 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.
For more information, contact:
[email protected]
or visit:
www.danlawtonfiction.com
Cover designed by Samuel G. Wilson
http://designskills.samwilson-online.com
ISBN: 978-0-9964076-1-8
Second Edition: June, 2015
DEDICATION
This book is for Sheldon Thayer, who passed before its publication.
And for Amaya Lawton – Always follow your dreams.
Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
GEORGE
I’m going to turn myself in today. It’s been eight days since I left Kansas and I’m already tired of looking over my shoulder. I rest on the edge of the dock and let my feet dangle over the water one final time. The bright sun reflects off Lake Erie beneath my toes, and I take a moment to reflect on what it is that I have done.
I’m an accomplice to murder, a co-conspirator to a multi-million dollar heist, and I’ll likely be charged with some other lower class felonies that the prosecutor will throw on top for good measure. I’m facing a long time in prison, not county jail, but prison; the big house. I don’t expect that I’ll ever see the sunshine as a free man again.
In the eight days since my leaving Kansas, I have spent every penny I had to my disposal, which wasn’t much, and my pockets are completely empty besides a few clusters of lint. With nothing left to distract me from doing what I’m going to do, I push myself to my feet and casually stroll over the wet wooden planks that hover above the water, all the while wondering to myself how I ever got to this place. How did someone like me, an admitted loner who avoids confrontation at all costs, wind up getting involved in something like this? I was pulled in by the love of a woman who I thought loved me back, and all I’m left with is a broken heart and a future behind bars. I regret ever walking into the library eight weeks ago or picking up that ringing phone later on.
I wish I never even met her.
The Luna Pier Police Department is just a few blocks from where I am, and I ponder whether I should wait until after the lunch hour so I don’t inconvenience the local deputies on duty, but I don’t think I can wait that long. I just want this to be over with. They’ll be silently thanking me for the national exposure they’ll get for finding such an elusive fugitive. They’ll take all the credit and I’ll let them bask in their glory.
The small town of Luna Pier, Michigan is boring and quiet with very little criminal activity besides some minor drug use by the unstimulated youth, I assume, so they could use some excitement around here. When the news spreads of my hiding out in their town, the gossip will run rampant amongst the residents. The little old ladies at the nail salons and hairdressers will come up with extensive criminal enterprise conspiracies, but they’ll be all wrong. They have no idea about the circumstances that brought me here, and they probably never will. I picked the town randomly and would be perfectly content to have zero interaction with the locals, but that won’t stop them from locking their doors at night and wondering why them. Curfews will be put in place and fathers will require their daughter’s home before dark, and they won’t rest until the trial is over and I’m locked away for good. It’ll be a long journey for everyone involved, that’s for sure. Not until then will Luna Pier go back to its ordinary, underwhelming existence.
With my hands buried deep within my hollow pockets, I take one final gaze at the family of minnows that burrow in the sand below the water. The fishing pole and tackle box that I left on the beach sit alone, waiting for their next lucky amateur fisherman to scoop them up. The planks of the dock creak slightly as I approach the ramp, each step bringing me closer to my dreary, inevitable future.
I look up briefly and notice a shadowy figure that appears to be waiting at the end of the pier. I wonder if they’re waiting for me. It must be the police, here to escort me away to my impending reality. Honestly, I’m surprised it took them this long to track me down, and the timing is actually quite convenient as it’ll save me the trip on foot over to the station. Although the walk through the cloudless sky might be enjoyable, I’ll have plenty of time to walk while I’m pacing around the perimeter of the prison in Topeka in my orange numbered jumpsuit.
I don’t see any police lights or hear any sirens in the background, so they must not want to make a scene. I put my head down and walk the rest of the way with full intentions of cooperating fully. I take a deep breath as I approach the figure and prepare myself for what is about to happen.
This is it.
My life as I know it will never be the same again.
CHAPTER TWO
BILLY
All I can think about is my dead brother. I’ve had to restart counting the money three times now due to my lack of ability to focus. I was hard on him, I realize, but it’s only because I cared about him. I still do. He was nothing like our father and me, which is maybe why I lost my patience with him too quickly at times, but I really do miss him already. It was horrific how he died, and I feel bad about that, but it was partly his own doing. I’ve come to the realization that if he was more careful, like me, none of this would have ever happened and we’d already be on our way to Mexico; all three of us. But now, i
t’s just me and the girl left.
I try to clear my mind and count again. The bills are in stacks of one-thousand, ten hundreds wrapped together. Each of the stacks are scattered in front of me and are piled high on the table. I count out stacks of tens and place them in separate piles to the side. I toss each pile into the bag individually, counting aloud in ten-thousands. This takes some time, but I’m able to shut my mind down long enough to count all of the stacks.
Ten million even.
I zip the bag and toss it over my shoulder, then stand from my seat and start toward the door. I can still hear her crying in the next room. “Enough of that,” I say to her as I make my way into the room that is adjacent to the one I was just in. “What’s done is done, time to move on.”
“Oh, shut up! You just don’t get it,” she says, becoming more upset with each word that stutters from her mouth. Her eyes are swollen from the steady stream of tears, and her face is bruised. She hasn’t stopped crying since he left two hours ago. “He didn’t deserve that, he’s a good man.”
“Get over it. We had to do what we had to do.”
“We?” she snaps. “It was all your idea!”
“Maybe so, but you’re the one who did all the real damage to the guy. You’re the one who broke his heart, not me.”
“What choice did I have?”
“I don’t think he’ll see it that way.” I grin at her. She puts her face in her hands and weeps some more. I roll my eyes and look out into the empty corridor. I give her a moment before continuing, “We have a long drive ahead of us, let’s go.”
I leave the room and start down the hallway, expecting her to follow. When I realize that she’s not, I turn around and head back to the room. She’s standing in front of the chair with her arms hanging to her side when I return. The tears have suddenly stopped.
“I’m not going,” she says as she wipes her nose on her torn sleeve. “And I want my portion now.”
Her stubbornness frustrates me, and I really don’t have the energy for this shit anymore. “You either come with me or you get nothing. It’s as simple as that.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal. One million for me and my family, and the rest for you. That’s what you said.”
“Well, when I make the rules, I’ll say what’s part of the deal and what’s not, you got it?”
She says nothing. She slides her hands behind her back and reaches for something in the waist of her jeans. She makes her way toward me and stops when she’s just a few feet away. She pulls her arms forward and points them at my forehead. Her arms are shaking, but I can’t tell what she’s holding. I take a couple of steps back until it becomes clear.
It’s a gun.
I pat myself around my chest and waist, feeling for mine. It’s gone. “How the hell did you get that?”
She leans in and blows me a kiss. Bitch. She must have grabbed it when she stuck her tongue down my throat before.
“You under estimated me, Billy,” she says.
Visions of The Mirage, the boat I already named but haven’t yet bought, run through my mind as I stare into the barrel of my own gun. I see myself coasting through the Gulf of Mexico with my bag of hard-earned cash and an expensive bottle of red wine. I can almost taste the bitterness of the perfectly aged grapes now. It won’t be long before it’s a reality.
“Do you even know how to use that thing?” I say, mocking her.
“I always knew you were dumber than you looked,” she says, chuckling to herself. “Just like your brother.”
I clench my jaw and can feel my heart starting to pump more rapidly. “Leave him out of this. You know nothing about him.”
“I know that you think you’re better than he was. I know that you think because of who you used to be that you could control him.”
The adrenaline is building within me and I’m thinking about making a move for the gun. If she keeps moving her lips I might blow her brains out.
She continues, "I know you made him do all your dirty work while you reaped the benefits. You’re nothing more than a coward.”
My fingers twitch. I want to jump her and take the gun, but I do all I can to hold myself back. She’ll mess up soon enough. She’s just trying to get a reaction out of me, and I’m not going to give in to her little game. I force myself to settle. “I should have just killed you when I had the chance.”
She chuckles to herself again before cocking the gun. Craziness has taken over for the sorrow that was once in her eyes. The bullet pings as it slides into the chamber of the gun and it makes my skin crawl. For the first time, I think I might be starting to fear her.
“Like I told you, I knew you were stupid,” she says. She presses the barrel of the gun into my forehead. Her hands are trembling.
“You won’t do it. You don’t have the stomach for it,” I say, staring at her, almost daring her.
Tears fill up her eyes again. A single one slides down her cheek and I think I can see my reflection in it as it moves down her face. She clenches her hands tightly around the handle of the gun and closes her eyes. Her face scrunches up as if to protect herself from a looming explosion.
My heart is racing, but I’m calling her bluff. Sweat beads on the back of my neck. She’s thinking irrationally and won’t be able to go through with it. I know this girl, and I know she doesn’t have the willpower to do something like this. If there is one thing that I can say for sure about her, it’s that she won’t do it. She won’t pull the trigger.
CHAPTER THREE
GEORGE
Eight weeks earlier.
It’s a summer afternoon and I’m in the public library in town looking through the shelves for a good read. I settle on a crime thriller from a debut author. As usual, I open the book and start scanning the first chapter.
“Excuse me,” says a soft woman’s voice from behind me. I turn slightly and look over my shoulder.
“Hi, can I help you?” I say.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but…”
I don’t hear a word she says after that. Standing before me is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her face is long and proportionate, her eyes soft and welcoming, and her features are seemingly perfectly symmetrical. She licks her lips without realizing it and I can’t help but stare. Her brunette hair is pulled to one side, and she twirls it as she speaks.
“Hello?” she says.
“What?” I say, jumbled.
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you know where the non-fiction section is.”
“What did I say?”
“Nothing.”
I take a moment to gather myself before responding. Her beauty has me rattled. “I’m sorry. Yeah, the non-fiction is right over there.” I point to the sign hanging from the ceiling across the library.
She blushes. “I know…I’m sorry, I don’t usually do this.”
I didn’t realize how tense she was until now. She’s no better at this than I am. “Do what?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry.”
“Please stop apologizing.”
She lets out a long sigh and some tension within her is released. “I just really wanted to talk to you. I saw the sign.” She seems relieved for saying so, and it flatters me. Women are sometimes hesitant to approach men, and women like her especially don’t approach men like me.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah, I see you here all the time, and I just really wanted to talk to you.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you here before. I think I would have noticed someone like you.”
“Well, not all the time, just sometimes. Okay, not sometimes, just today.” She throws her face into her hands and shakes her head in embarrassment. After holding the position for a moment, she slides her hands up over her face and whips her hair back. “Can we start over?”
“Hi,” I say, smiling, restarting the whole thing.
“Hi, I saw you over here and I just wanted to
come and say hello.” She extends her hand to me and smiles. I take it.
“Well, hello then. My name is George.”
“Does George have a last name?”
“Sanders, George Sanders.”
“Hi, George Sanders. My name is Alicia Diaz. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
---
Meeting new people has always been a bit awkward for me. The truth is, I lack confidence, especially around women. I never know precisely what to say or do, so I generally avoid it. Although the awkward beginning, conversation comes very easily between Alicia and me. It feels natural, almost like it was meant to be. We spend most of the afternoon in the library, talking and laughing, and more than likely disturbing a few folks. The afternoon quickly turns into the evening, and we move the conversation to a coffee shop across the street.
“What brings you to Kansas anyway? That’s a long way from Southern California,” I say.
“I came to visit my cousin for the weekend. I don’t get to see her much,” Alicia says.
“You came all this way to see your cousin? She must be pretty special.”
“She is.”
“Well I’m glad you did. Or I never would have met you.”
“Me too.” She blushes.
Admittedly, I’m impressed with my charisma today. It’s almost like I know what I’m doing. I glance at the clock hanging over the counter. “This place is going to be closing in a few minutes, are you just about ready to go?”
Alicia finishes the last bite of her light pastry and stands up without speaking, then we leave. The evening is brisk and the moon is almost full. It smells as if it might rain. I lead Alicia to my car, and she slides in the passenger’s side.
“So what do we do now?” I ask. “Should I take you back to your cousin’s?”
“No, she’s working.”
