Godsend_a gripping, fast-paced thriller

by J. A. Marley

  “It’s one thing being a thrill seeker. It’s another ripping off a Mexican drug cartel.”

  And there it was. The moment of truth Danny had been waiting for. The real reason why June Cardell had found her way to Danny’s little house and onto his boat, ending up on his lap. She wanted him to help ease the situation with their enemies in some way.

  She slid her hand up his back onto his neck, pulled him in close and kissed him fully on the lips. Danny let her and then joined in, matching the urgency of her kisses.

  “I thought you just told me you didn’t mix business with pleasure? You’re sending me mixed messages, sir.”

  “You told me you were a follower of Jesus, they tend not to break the sacred institution of marriage…”

  “No, I said I went to church and married a preacher. I never said I became stupid when I found the love of Jesus… Vincent may have been able to look into my soul… but it’s still my soul. My experiences back home in England taught me to always be my own woman.” She reached down and pulled at Danny’s shorts.

  “And so, you sought me out. How can I help, June Cardell? How can I help this God-Fearing yet earthy, married yet independent woman?”

  June suddenly sat still, leaning back away from him. “Why that’s easy. Firstly, you’re going to help me rob my husband…” She kissed Danny again, adjusting her balance as he pushed back.

  “And secondly…?”

  “Secondly, we’re going to make him think he’s in on it…”

  “Tricky… but go on…”

  “Well… that’s enough for now, except… now, now, you’re going to fuck me…”

  And all Danny could say gently was, “Fuck me!”

  12

  God Loves A Sinner

  Once Danny had tied the boat to his dock, the twilight had well and truly gathered. Magic hour. The time of day great film directors loved to shoot in most. And Danny thought the Florida Keys did ‘Magic Hour’ better than any other place he had ever visited.

  The sky was suffused with purple and pink. Distant thunderhead clouds giving the colours the perfect contrast, their billowy whiteness tinged with darker greys where the rains sat heavy and ready to fall. A heron, perfectly silhouetted by nature’s light show, arced over his head.

  Danny was struck that, in a film, this would be the beginning of a romantic interlude. The lead man would sweep the leading lady off the boat and into a kiss that would be framed by the twilight sky, both parties resplendent in their close-up moment. Except, in this instance, the leading lady had just suggested the leading man rip off her husband but only after she’d pounced on the lead like a wrestler in a championship bout. Romantic? Perhaps not.

  Danny blew out his cheeks and turned to look at June. He had enjoyed the afternoon’s fireworks, but somehow, they had only served to pull into sharp focus a fact that Danny had long been trying to ignore. He was lonely. And this woman was not any kind of answer to his solitude.

  “That’s a very serious face, Danny. Are you scheming already? Have you decided to take on my little project?”

  Danny held out his hand to help her from the boat to the dock. “A bird shows up, occupies your entire day, asks you to pull a blag on her husband and then gives you a good seeing to. That’ll leave most men’s heads spinning.”

  “Such a way with words. I was led to believe you’re not most men.”

  “And that’s exactly why I have my serious face on. You were sent to look for me. You show up and lay this out, and now, I am busy trying to work out the angles. Who sent you? Why? And where is the person who picked me out for you?”

  Danny motioned for June to walk with him, to escort her to her car. They made their way around the wooden deck to the front of his house, pausing at the top of the steps.

  “You have a low opinion of women, Danny? Are you one of those men who think that we’re all just make up and ditzy smiles?”

  “No. But I’m a very specific target. Your story doesn’t lead me to believe that you found me without help. Not without a very precise steer.”

  June was nodding, smiling. “If you want work done on your house, what do you do? You ask a friend to recommend a builder… request a few references. I did the same thing. After all, I do need someone with a very particular skill set.”

  June stepped closer to him, her hand snaking over his shoulder. “Danny, this could be a great adventure for us. The start of something beautiful. We could have fun, we’ll enjoy the money, we’ll live our lives out on the big canvas.”

  “Have you ever seen a film called Double Indemnity? A sexy Barbara Stanwyck talks Fred MacMurray into a scheme to bump her old man off for insurance money.”

  Confusion registered on June’s face.

  “You’re asking me to rob your husband, but I know, next up, you’ll want him dead. It doesn’t end well for Barbara and Fred. Your project won’t end any differently, either. I’m not the man you’re looking for. You can tell whoever sent you my way that I’m not interested in anything they, you or anyone else might want to try and tempt me with. And, while you’re at it, ask them to stop leaving me little gifts, too.”

  Danny stopped and picked up the model London bus that he’d spotted as soon as they’d come around the corner of his house. He’d half expected that something would be there, waiting.

  June looked even more confused at the sight of the little red toy in his hands, but she pressed on regardless. “I’m not a woman who takes no for an answer. What I’ve shared with you today is an honest-to-god, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It would be flying in God’s face to turn such a thing down. I’ll let you think on it. You know I’ll be back, Danny, and soon. In the meantime, pray on it…the Lord will show you the right path.”

  Danny laughed. Putting both hands on his head, he wondered at just how crazy this woman might be. “You ask me to rip off your husband, fuck me and don’t even raise so much as an eyebrow when I mention murder, and yet, you still talk about God?”

  “Yes, I do, because God made us… made us in his image, and that means all of us, every last one of us. That includes sin too, Danny. Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘God loves a sinner’? And anyway, if God didn’t want us to sin, why’d he make it just so delicious to do so? See you soon, Mr Fisherman, whether you like the idea or not.”

  June Cardell kissed him on the cheek, then, with one hand, squeezed his ass and patted it for good measure. Danny was, for once, speechless.

  As she walked away to her car, he stared at her, sashaying back to her other life, and he grew angry. He knew in that moment his quiet life in his perfect little corner of the Keys had just been turned completely upside down.

  13

  Fight, Flight or Freeze

  Danny had a lot on his mind. Not only the situation developing around him, but the fact that he was performing a headstand was also a factor.

  He was controlling his breathing. He tensed his core, his feet lightly braced against the clapboard wall of his house, the headstand causing the muscles in his neck to burn. Slowly, he straightened out his elbows, performing a handstand press up, keeping the push up and dip back down slow, controlled and graceful.

  He could feel the blood pumping in his upper body, sweat glistening on his skin, even in the cool of the early morning. He steadied himself again and counted to three before repeating the push and dip, the ninth time he had done so that morning.

  When he had to figure out a problem, he did so while occupying his body in some way. Sometimes, it was through exercise; sometimes, he practised his lock-picking skills; sometimes, it was with the aid of a long, loud conversation with himself while out alone fishing.

  That day, exercise was the best option. So far, he had racked up two hundred press ups, countless squats to high kicks, and now, he was upside down, enjoying the heat of the blood accumulating in his head. His intuition had been right. His oasis of peace had been hit by a storm. He had felt it coming, but when it arrived, even he was surprised that it was i
n the shape of a crazy, sexy, Christian woman.

  But she was just the support act. Danny needed to direct his focus. He suspected he knew who had sent June Cardell his way. And if he was right, he had to consider his options, and fast.

  He pushed and dipped his body for the tenth and final time, his arms shaking as he did so, his shoulders telling him he was about done.

  Once upright, he took a moment for his balance to settle and his vision to clear. Heading to the punch bag hanging in the carport, he snatched up his sparring gloves and beat out a fast one, one-two rhythm, dancing on the balls of his feet as he circled his target.

  He believed there were only ever three options to be considered: flight, fight or freeze. Danny could take flight. He knew for certain that no matter how this problem would play out, his Florida days were now, surely, numbered. That didn’t mean he had to run now, right away. But soon. Someone had found him.

  Fight was his second option. He could flush out the source of his problem and, when the time was right, get the in first punch. This strategy was full of risk. But then, Danny was at his most comfortable when the stakes were high.

  He paused his routine, took a deep breath, giving his body a few seconds to recover, before re-engaging with the bag. This time, he threw in a series of spinning high kicks followed by a volley of rapid jabs, twenty each time, trying to keep the pace and power uniform.

  He wasn’t one for freezing, usually, but this time, it might be best to sit still, wait it out and see what happened. During the wait, he could at least set all his ducks in a row.

  Danny stopped again. His chest heaving, he sucked in lungfuls of air, registering that the temperature was starting to climb. Another fine Florida day was in progress.

  Stepping out from under the car port, he squinted, taking in the deep blue sky, feeling the breeze cool upon his chest and face. Fight, flight or freeze?

  Fuck it, he thought. There’s only one man who could find me, and I’ve fought him before and won. Where’s the harm in a little rematch? Come get me, Harkness…

  There weren’t many things that Ines Zedillo felt squeamish about, but for some reason, eye injuries or deformities made her feel queasy. But when the man at her table took his sunglasses off to wipe his eyes, she couldn’t help but look away.

  She didn’t like the unnatural milkiness of his eyeball. She didn’t like the way it swivelled independently of its counterpart, and most of all, she didn’t like to think of what ugly act had left such an unpleasant legacy. He was a big man, shaven-headed, but someone, somewhere, had bested him. The eye was a legacy of it.

  When the shades were securely back in place, she felt able to continue their conversation.

  “Tell me, señor…”

  “Harkness…”

  “Tell me, Señor Harkness. How do you know that some of our financial matters have been compromised?”

  “Did you know, señora, that when he was secretary of the UN, Kofi Annan said that ‘knowledge is power, information is liberating’? I want to liberate you from a highly inconvenient difficulty. My source is well placed in one of your expansive laundering operations. How I came to the knowledge is not important. How I can help to eliminate the problem is.”

  Ines took a sip of the Bloody Mary in front of her, savouring the heat of the spice and the cold of the mixture as it hit the back of her throat. She had always liked the taste, a morning drink laced with alcohol, the indulgent decadence of it appealing to her. She inspected her impeccably manicured fingernails as she gripped her glass, the light click of them against its surface somehow reassuring. She felt in control.

  “Señor, you know who I work for, you know what we do. You show up here, telling me my organisation is in trouble, and you are the only man who can help me. I have always heard that the English were arrogant, and you seem to be proving it. I suppose, in solving this… issue, you propose to charge me a certain amount of money?”

  “A good piece of work is worth paying for, and I prefer to be described as confident rather than arrogant. I have all the tools, the contacts and the skillset to help you. Plus, if your organisation was so powerful, how would you find yourself with this skimming problem in the first place?”

  Ines laughed, amused at this gringo’s bravura, and also his stupidity. “You have huevos grandes, Harkness. Talking to me as if I am small time. Your offer would only make sense, if the amount you charge me is smaller than the amount I am already losing. By your logic, that would mean I am losing a lot more than I am happy to admit.”

  “And my source has shown me proof that you are. And losing face is always a bitter pill, isn’t it? Now, let’s stop being polite and talk frankly shall we, Ines?”

  She bridled at the use of her first name, her frame visibly tensing. She clicked her nails against her glass, watching him shift his weight towards her. His head looked a little too big for the rest of his body, his arms long and solid. She suddenly felt like she was in a room with a circus tiger; outwardly tame but, inwardly, still capable of sudden violence. She flashed her disdain across her face, deciding to show him she was still in control.

  “That’s the Ines I want to speak to, right there! Not the designer-clad, dripping in jewellery, charitable foundation Ines. I want to talk to the street-savvy drug dealer. The one who clawed her way out of Culiácan to be here and didn’t give a fuck whose throats were cut along the way.”

  She sat silently, seething, but not letting him see the depth of her indignation. She would show him just how angry she could be when it suited her.

  Harkness sat further forward, dropping the volume of his voice so that only she could hear him, not the two bodyguards who stood just off to one side.

  “How do you think those animals from the Barrios are going to react when you have to tell them you’ve been haemorrhaging significant amounts of their cash? Your head will look very pretty, lying severed on a Miami beach. I’m here to remind the street-smart Ines what’s at stake and help her to clear it up. Yes, I’ve done my research. I’ve heard the stories about where the developer cum socialite got her seed capital from. Street chatter can be fucking loud in this town. I know an awful lot about you. If nothing else, that makes me worth your fucking attention. You also might try not talking to me like I’m dog shit on your shoe.”

  “Aguas, Señor Harkness. You are in my home. I will treat you with respect, once you have earned it. Now, tell me, cabrón, If I do have such a huge problem, how do you propose we solve it?”

  Harkness gently clapped his hands together and laughed. “Cabrón? Now we’re talking, Ines… now we are talking! As for your little problem, I have already started work on the solution… I’ve found exactly the right man to sort it for us…”

  “One man? He must be very special if he can solve this… puzzle all on his own.”

  “Oh, believe me, Ines, he has exactly the right kind of strengths. We will both enjoy watching him at work.”

  Harkness stood to leave.

  “And what of price, Señor Harkness? You don’t want to set one, ahora?”

  Harkness kept walking.

  “I think you need a little more time, señora, to realise just how valuable my friend and I might be. Maybe I need to convince you just a little more. Hasta luego.”

  14

  Let Us Pray

  From experience, June knew that timing was everything. She honestly believed that whatever happened in life, it did so at the moment it was supposed to. Her troubled romance and its violent conclusion back in Britain were a perfect example. They signalled the start of a chain of events that had brought her to a better life in the US, and they were now culminating in a chance to cement the lifestyle she had become accustomed to. A life without the need for a man hanging around telling her how she should be living.

  She trusted in that timing implicitly, believing in fate. She was willing to let it play out its hand. But she also believed that when you could control the timing of something, give it a little encouragement, then that
could be advantageous too. If she could pick and choose when, she spent a long time judging the best moment to commence. And this fine morning was no exception.

  She knew exactly where he’d be. Knew exactly what she had to do. Knew exactly how he’d react. Despite his ruthlessness and single-minded focus on power, she knew him. She understood him. His sexual proclivities and lust for her gave her an influence and power over him that no one else held. She showered at precisely eight am and then used the body cream she knew he liked. Slipping into a long silk robe, she checked her hair in the mirror before setting off to find him.

  The prayer room was on the ground floor of their split-level house, dominated by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Florida Bay. Hanging in front of the window was a huge wooden cross, its surface intricately carved with quotes from the New Testament. Beneath it was a long, wooden church style kneeler, the low platform looking utilitarian, no padding or cushion to rest your knees on, just hard, bare oak. She found it mindboggling that anyone could remain kneeling there for long periods of time. The sun was streaming into the room, silhouetting Vincent Cardell as he prayed, head bowed beneath the cross.

  June closed the door silently, then tiptoed over to stand behind him. She could hear him uttering his invocations under his breath, she couldn’t be sure but she thought it was Psalm sixty-two, the one about “God alone is my rock and my salvation”. It finished “Power and love belong to God”.

  Vincent had a stillness to him that she found almost unnatural. She wondered how his knees and back could take such discomfort.

  She slipped out of the silk robe. Slowly, she gently raised it over his head, bringing it down over him. He gave a small flinch.

  “June…”

  “Shhhhh.”

  She leant on his shoulders, keeping him in place on his knees.