Requiem

by J. B. Turner

  OTHER TITLES BY J. B. TURNER

  American Ghost Series

  Rogue

  Reckoning

  Jon Reznick Series

  Hard Road

  Hard Kill

  Hard Wired

  Hard Way

  Hard Fall

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by J. B. Turner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503948235

  ISBN-10: 1503948234

  Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com

  To my sons

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  The dive bar was dead.

  Nathan Stone was nursing a cold beer as John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom” growled out of the jukebox. Fox News on the TV, an off-duty Miami cop staring into his whiskey, the pink neon sign in the shape of a woman flashing on and off. A blond wearing a red bikini was asleep on the pool table. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt was talking to himself in the corner.

  Stone zoned out as a reporter talked about a shooting outside a Chicago nightclub. He tasted the residue of the steroid-and-amphetamine pill he had crunched earlier.

  He was thinking of calling it a night when a thirtysomething woman in killer heels sauntered into the bar alone. She looked a lot like his sister. The resemblance was uncanny.

  Stone watched the woman in the mirror behind the bar. She wore skinny jeans and a tight-fitting crop top.

  She pulled up a stool two down from Stone. Shifted in her seat as she tucked her long auburn hair behind her ears. Her eyes were hooded, as if she was already loaded. She ordered a bottle of Presidente beer with a tequila chaser. She drank them both in the blink of an eye.

  “Same again, Pedro,” she said to the bartender. Loudly, so she could be heard over the driving beat and guitar riffs.

  “My name’s not Pedro, ma’am,” he said.

  “What does it matter? Same again.”

  The bartender poured her a second tequila shot. Slid it across the bar next to another chilled bottle of Presidente.

  She drank them both. When the jukebox fell silent, she turned and stared at Stone. “You from around here, honey?” she asked.

  The resemblance to his soft-spoken sister vanished the moment she opened her mouth. Stone had no wish to engage her in conversation. So he just shrugged.

  “It’s a simple question, honey. I’m not expecting to see Stephen Hawking hanging around here, let me tell you. So, you from around here?”

  “I’m in town for a few hours.”

  “A few hours. Is that right?” She ordered a Scotch and pointed at Stone. “Give him whatever he wants.”

  “I’m good, thanks,” Stone said.

  “I’m not asking if you’re good, honey. I’m asking what you want to drink. You want a Heineken?”

  Stone sighed, not wanting to get dragged into a prolonged discussion. “Heineken’s good, thanks.”

  “Make that two Heinekens, Pedro, if you don’t mind,” she said.

  The bartender handed them each a beer. Stone took a sip. It felt good.

  The woman took two large gulps from her bottle. Led Zeppelin was now blasting out of the speakers.

  “Robert Plant. What a fucking singer, right? He’s English, isn’t he?”

  Stone nodded.

  “Yeah, I thought so. So . . . you say you’re in town. You at a conference?”

  Stone shook his head.

  “Not much of a talker, huh? Well, that’s fine.” She looked at the vacant stool between them. “You mind if I sit there?”

  Stone shrugged. “Be my guest.”

  The woman smiled and slid over, swigging some beer. “My name’s Justine. As in Justine time, right?” She laughed long and hard at her play on words.

  Stone nursed his drink.

  The woman leaned into him as she scanned the rest of the bar. “What the hell has been going on here? That girl on the pool table? Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. Probably had too much to drink, I guess.”

  “That’s very perceptive, Sherlock.”

  Stone shifted in his seat.

  “Are you from Florida?” she asked.

  Stone shook his head and took a gulp of cold beer.

  “I’m from New York,” she said.

  “Is that right?”

  “Lower East Side.”

  “You kidding me?” Stone said.

  The woman shook her head. “Nope. Hester Street. Five of us to a room. You believe that?”

  Stone smiled. He hadn’t come across anyone from the Lower East Side. Ever. Apart from when he went back to the Lower East Side. “You eat at that deli?” He snapped his fingers. “You know, that famous one. Everyone in the neighborhood knows it.”

  She smiled sheepishly. “It’s all changed these days. You wouldn’t recognize it. New hotels and restaurants. Hipsters everywhere. You notice they’re always talking into some cell phone or with a Bluetooth headset on? It’s all messed up these days.”

  “What are you in town for?” Stone asked.

  “Actually, I’ve got a modeling assignment tomorrow.”

  “Shouldn’t you be catching up on your beauty sleep or something?”

  “Too stressed. A lot of things kicking around. Bullshit manager dipping like crazy. Wants twenty-five percent of whatever I earn. You believe that? Gonna have to fire him.”

  Stone finished his beer and ordered two more. He pushed one toward the woman.

  She raised it in a toast. “What’s your name, stranger?”

  “Jimmy,” he said. Stone always started from the premise that no one needed to know his real name.

  “Jimmy? I like it. Once dated a
Jimmy. From the Village. Think he ran off with a guy who made suits for Marlon Brando back in the day.”

  Stone gulped his beer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cop get up and leave. “Thinning out.”

  The woman nodded and flashed him a big smile. “You got any cocaine?”

  “What?”

  “I said, have you got any cocaine? What is it with people these days?”

  Stone shook his head. “I don’t do that stuff.”

  “Good for you. Wish I could give it up.” She touched under her nose. “Know what my mother said?”

  Stone shrugged.

  “Called me a low-life little piece of shit.”

  “Not very sympathetic.”

  “Fuck her. Anyway, what does she know? Shacked up with some lubricant salesman from the Midwest. I mean, who does that?”

  Stone smiled. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

  The woman laughed. “Well, I’m glad someone finds it funny. Me? That’s my life. Stepfather sells lubricant to pharmacies across Michigan and Illinois.”

  “You mind changing the subject?”

  The woman gave him a sly smile. “You don’t like me talking about that kind of thing?”

  “It’s not a great icebreaker, if I’m honest.”

  “I don’t know. We’re both talking about it, right?”

  Stone nodded. “Point taken.”

  “Hey, what are you doing for the rest of the night?”

  He shrugged. “Drinking.”

  “What time does this place shut?”

  “Five.”

  The woman looked around the bar and gazed at the girl in the bikini asleep on the pool table. “I’m looking for something livelier, you know what I mean?”

  “Might liven up later.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” She leaned in close. Stone caught a whiff of cheap perfume. “Listen, you might be in luck. I’m headed to a party downtown. Friend of mine from college. She’s a real scream, let me tell you.”

  Stone sipped some beer. “I’m not much of a party guy.”

  “Hey, neither am I. But I like a drink. And I can see you do too. What do you say?”

  Stone looked at his watch and grimaced.

  “They’ve got a big loft, a big-name DJ, and plenty of booze, weed, coke, or whatever you fancy.”

  Stone sipped some beer. He had planned to stay put for a couple more hours. He turned and looked at the woman. She was smiling.

  “Come on, what’s wrong with you? It’ll be a blast!”

  “I must be out of my mind. Sure, why the hell not?”

  Stone swallowed the rest of his beer, then followed the woman out of the bar and into the alley at the side of the Deuce. A pickup truck was sitting there.

  “You’re gonna drive?” he said.

  The woman opened the door, laughed, and slid into the driver’s seat while Stone got in on the other side. She started up the engine, pulled away, weaving through the dark South Beach streets. “So, you want to party?”

  Stone took his Glock from his waistband and pressed it to her head. “No, I don’t want to party. I want to know the truth, you lying piece of shit.”

  Two

  The woman swerved down Washington Avenue. “What the hell is this?” she wailed. “What are you doing?”

  “Shut the fuck up and drive.”

  “You’re scaring me. What is this? I wasn’t told this was going to happen!”

  Stone kept the gun trained at her head as he let the words sink in. His instincts had been correct: she was the bait in a honey trap. And that meant they had found him.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  The more he thought about it, the more he could see in terrifying clarity why the Commission had hired her. Her looks, her perfume—she resembled his sister enough to make him lower his guard but not so much as to make him suspicious. And now she was supposed to lead him to his death. They would be waiting for him. They’d torture him. Kill him.

  Stone’s mind was racing. He needed to keep on the move. He needed to get out of sight. She might be wearing a wire. But he also needed to find out what she knew. Decide his next move.

  Stone felt the amphetamine and steroids coursing through his veins, heightening his rage and focus. He needed a plan. He needed time.

  “Please don’t kill me! Please, I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Focus on the road! Get on the bridge.”

  The woman blinked away tears as she pulled onto the MacArthur Causeway. Ahead loomed the skyscrapers of downtown Miami.

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Please! What have I done wrong? Where are we going?”

  “You will tell me your real name, honey, or I’m going to blow your pretty little brains out. And trust me, I don’t bluff.”

  The woman stammered. “But . . . I was told . . . Is this part of it?”

  “I asked your fucking name! Real fucking name! Now!”

  “Beatrice! McNally. But my stage name is Jane Chalmers.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Stone pressed the gun hard against her neck.

  “Please don’t kill me! I thought . . . I was told . . . It’s a job. I get paid.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m an actress. That’s all I am, I swear.”

  Stone realized the lengths the Commission had gone to set him up. “Why you?”

  “I’m . . . I’ve been out of work and I’m broke. Dead broke. I was desperate for any work.”

  “Go on.”

  Tears streamed down Beatrice’s face. “A Hollywood casting director called me. She said she liked the way I looked.”

  “Is this you acting right now?”

  “No, it’s not! I’m terrified.”

  “Tell me about this call from the casting director.”

  “Real nice. Sweet-talking. Thought I’d be perfect for a new film. And they gave me ten thousand dollars to fly to Miami for a casting session.”

  Stone contemplated what she was telling him. He was still trying to get his head around it. “You were paid to do what exactly?”

  “The film was supposed to be a docudrama. Lots of improv. They told me that you would be sitting at the bar, and that you were an actor. And you were in character.”

  “I don’t think I believe you.”

  “It’s the truth! You think I could make shit like this up? This is too trippy for words.”

  Stone pressed the gun tight to her temple. “You will keep driving until I get a satisfactory answer. So you’re an out-of-work actress from where exactly?”

  “Santa Monica, California.”

  “What was the name of the casting director you spoke to?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “And you were given ten grand, told to go to Miami, and do what?”

  “I was told to go to that bar, I was told at what time, and they described what you looked like.”

  Stone absorbed the information. “And you took that at face value?”

  “Yes. Goddamn, I know how it looks. Makes me look like an idiot.”

  “Being an idiot is the least of your problems in case you hadn’t noticed. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  Beatrice glanced up at a road sign. “Shit. I don’t know where I am. I have no idea where I am.”

  “Forget about that. What were your instructions?”

  “I just told you!”

  “Tell me again!”

  “I was told to chat you up at the Deuce bar on Fourteenth Street, say I was from the Lower East Side and all that, and then suggest going to a party in Coconut Grove.”

  “Pretty cute operation.”

  Her eyes were again filling with tears. “This wasn’t my idea, I promise.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “I’m a fucking actress! You know how much I earned last year from acting?”

  “Not interested.”

  “Four hundred
dollars. A soap voice-over. You believe that?”

  But Stone’s attention was locked on the side mirror. “Shut up!” he said.

  Thirty yards back a Mercedes SUV was tailing them. Tinted windows, darker than was legal. With four silhouetted men inside.

  Three

  Stone moved the gun away from Beatrice’s head as he considered his next move. “Take the ramp up ahead and get on the highway. Drive south, out of the city.”

  “Please,” she said, “let me out.”

  “Not an option, honey.”

  Stone checked the side-view mirror again. The Mercedes SUV was still tucked in not far behind them. He didn’t know for sure if it was the Commission. But if it was, they would know that she wasn’t driving Stone in the direction of the party.

  The more he started to plan his countermoves, the calmer he felt. More focused. The slight dulling effect of the booze had already lifted.

  “So, you don’t know who really contacted you?” he said. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “You’re an actress. What do you know about the truth? You only need to learn your lines.”

  Beatrice bit her lower lip as tears streamed down her face.

  “Are you acting now, huh?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Stone glanced in the passenger-side mirror. The Mercedes was closing in. Stone felt all his senses switched on. He figured the guys tailing them—if they had indeed been sent to kill him—would be working out their next move. They would have a plan B if they were aware he’d spotted them. Of that he was sure. He wondered if Beatrice knew anything about that. But he didn’t think she knew shit. Either that or she was the best actress in the world.

  So the question was, Did the men in the SUV know they’d been rumbled? If Beatrice really was a clueless actress, they couldn’t be certain of the reason for the detour. And so they’d be awaiting instructions to determine their next move.

  He let those thoughts play out as Beatrice drove down the South Dixie Highway, past Coral Gables.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she said into the silence. “Please, I’ve got a kid. A daughter. It’s her birthday in a couple of days. I’ve got a party arranged for her. Please.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “With her father. We’re divorced. He got custody.”

  Stone glanced again in the side-view mirror. “That figures.”

  “What does that mean?”