Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Just as I grabbed my bag from underneath my desk, I sensed Izzy standing near my door. I began to tell her, “That was fast…”

  Only it wasn’t Izzy; it was Harold. This time there was no crooked smile revealing his stained teeth—just a face filled with years of hate for me.

  “What do you want?”

  Harold kept staring at me. His eyes never blinked. It was freaking me out. He finally revealed a manila folder and threw it on my desk. “That’s a copy,” he said.

  Only then did I see a mischievous smile appear on his face. While I wasn’t exactly sure what was in the folder, I had an idea.

  When Harold first showed me the newspaper article with my picture, I was filled with fear that he had figured it all out. But thanks to Izzy, I learned it was all coincidence. He had taken a vacation in Ukraine and stumbled across the paper. He had something, but it was clear he didn’t know what it was he had. It was only a matter of time though before he figured it out.

  I picked up the folder. Inside were pictures of me eating lunch with Ivan Renko, of me entering and exiting their headquarters, pictures of Teleco product by the boxes being delivered to the gang by me. He even had surveillance pictures that showed nobody worked at Tsilevich Imports, the business front I had set up for the gang. There was paperwork tracing Teleco orders to this office, as well as the payments from the bank account connected to the business. While Harold hadn’t found everything there was to find, he had figured out what I was doing. I was screwed.

  “I win,” he said.

  I was in complete shock. I didn’t know what to say. Sure I knew I was taking a risk that his pea brain wasn’t smart enough to figure this out, but man… I didn’t think it would happen this fast if it did at all.

  I reached down near my bag and pulled out my lower desk drawer. I threw an envelope on my desk, near Harold. “That’s a copy,” I said.

  Thank God for Elana Voronova.

  A call to Elana confirmed that Harold had booked a trip with her. She told me she never trusted this man from the moment he set foot inside her travel agency and that she knew he was lying when he said we were friends. What made her even more suspicious of him were his actions at the first social event. The girls swarmed to him like flies to shit. She later found out he told each one of them that he was rich and that he wanted to take care of them and give them an allowance every month. He even went so far to say he would visit every three months. Elana hated when men lied to her girls. She despised men with no integrity.

  The next night, she brought in two special girls. Their purpose was to stick with Harold from beginning to end and make sure they both made it up to his room that night—just the three of them, no one else.

  Right about now Harold was looking at ten pictures of him dressed up in women’s lingerie. He also wore make-up and posed for the camera in girly ways. In some pictures, he had a gag ball in his mouth. In others, an aggressive Russian woman wearing a strap-on was clearly taking him from behind. Elana was kind enough to give me copies of what she called “her insurance plan.”

  Harold and I stared at each other. I took the folder and tucked it away in my bag; he took the envelope and tucked it away in his jacket. He turned around and walked out just as Izzy was coming back.

  “What was Harold doing here?” she asked.

  “Same thing he’s been trying to do since my first day on the job.”

  CORKTOWN

  DESCRIPTION

  LOCO MOCO is the third book in the ever-popular Darby Stansfield thriller series.

  The world’s only consultant to the criminal underworld has just experienced his closest brush with death yet, and wonders if it’s time to quit the biz.

  In need of some serious soul searching, Darby Stansfield and his girlfriend, Izzy Weber, set off for a summer surfing adventure in Hawaii. But what the land of Aloha offers instead, is the same temptations he’s eager to escape—one in particular, the North Beach Boys. Hoping to resist the lure of the local gang, Darby focuses on improving his relationship with Izzy. All is fun in the sun until their beach house is broken into.

  From there, the mysterious threats begin to escalate, forcing Darby and Izzy to hire a local private detective. Between the PI working the case and the security improvements made around their place, the ideal summer appears to be back on track. Wrong.

  What they don’t realize is that a stranger is watching them and someone is going to die.

  Chapter 1

  Rosarito, Mexico

  The locals called the area near the foothills “dead land”. I was beginning to understand why. My hands were tied tightly behind my back with the leather strap they had used to beat me. The blood on my face had crusted under the sun and felt like caked theater makeup. I certainly did not recall auditioning for this performance. My legs had gone numb from the knees down, and the hot sand felt like daggers in my kneecaps. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep myself from falling over. In front of me was a shallow grave that I could make out with my one good eye; the other was swollen shut. I stared at the grave. Was this my home-to-be? Had I, Darby Stansfield, taken my consulting business too far?

  I was in deep trouble—in no man’s land, as far as I was concerned. About six miles east of the small resort town of Rosarito was the village of San Patricio. There was never any reason for me to go there. I had no business to conduct, no family to visit, and nothing about the place said, “vacation”. It was a town that should have died years ago but clung to life. Even the residents were reluctant to return if they ever left. So to travel farther east was out of the question for anybody, except for me.

  Out here, the paved road dies off like the land. Only the skeletons of a few ranches spotted the terrain. Heat waves as far as eyes could stand to watch kept it that way. This was considered unwanted property by government and the people.

  Three black SUV’s and a white Mercedes were the only signs that life still existed at one of the ranches. Behind a large barn, wooden with its paint faded and chipped beyond a recognizable color, a group of men had gathered. Six of them were on their knees. I was one of them.

  “Cuales diablos creen que son para venir aquí y decirme cuales son los terminos del trato?”

  I couldn’t understand a single word the hissing Mexican behind me said; it was all in Spanish. I could only assume he was pissed and we were screwed. He then squeezed off a round, making us all straighten up. Kneeling on my left was my client, Diego Castillo. It was his idea to arrange a drug deal and then change the terms. He thought he could force them into taking a deal that favored his interests. Clearly, he was mistaken.

  I, and six members of the Mission Mayhem gang, had come to Rosarito for a little R&R. At least, that’s the story Diego gave me. He said it was his way of thanking me for all my help with the gang. Thanks? I was on the verge of being shot execution-style for tagging along.

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  I must have repeated that phrase a million times in my head. The fear that gripped me was nothing like I had ever experienced. I shouldn’t worry though, right? This happens to other people, not me. Any second now the cavalry will show up, with guns blazing and smack talk flying. We were on the verge of rescue. I kept thinking that until I heard two noises that almost made me shit myself.

  Bam.

  Thud.

  It had begun. One of our guys was down. I dared not move my head but, out of the corner of my good eye, I could see a body slumped over in the grave. His name was Tony Espinoza, but they all called him Smiles on account of he was always happy and upbeat. I doubted he was smiling right now.

  The guy yelling at us was a lieutenant with the Juarez Cartel, Luis Ortega, but he was better known as The Bulldog. He earned his nickname by ripping his victims apart, a task he performed with great pleasure. The Juarez Cartel was the sworn enemy of the now weakened Tijuana Cartel, with whom the Mayhems aligned themselves.

  I’m a telecommunications consultant to the criminal underworld.
I helped the gang prosper back in the Mission district of San Francisco. Wireless business solutions helped them run their organization more efficiently, greatly increasing their productivity. My work with Diego’s gang was so successful that his head got the better of him. He decided to set up his own drug deal with The Bulldog as if he had the same muscle behind him that they did. Wrong.

  The Bulldog and his men were outfitted with flak jackets and assault rifles. I suspected they had tactical training as well. We were dead from the very beginning.

  The Bulldog stopped yelling. Bam. The gun blast echoed off the buildings. I heard the thud of another body, José’s probably. That was two down. Three more until he reached me. I was the last in line. Again the gun went off. This time, I actually saw shards of skull land in the dirt in front of us. The third one to go was Manny, I think. I couldn’t quite remember how we were lined up.

  The Bulldog began to speak again, this time in a softer voice. It was as if he were now consoling us. Yeah, right. This time he kept his casual conversation going when he pulled the trigger. Another thud with dust rising. Buh-bye, Hector. I never liked him much anyway.

  It was then that Diego started to speak. Why he waited so long before saying something was beyond me. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking as his men were gunned down right next to him. Wait, that’s it; He wasn’t thinking.

  Diego and The Bulldog spoke at the same time, neither of them listening much until they were both screaming. I was surprised by Diego’s bravado, considering the situation. Even his body shook with range. I had never heard him spew such a mixture of spit and venom.

  The Bulldog held his ground. And to make his point, he fired a bullet into Rooster’s head as his exclamation point. The gang gave Eduardo the nickname Rooster because he was always up early. It didn’t look like he was getting up this time.

  This close, the gun sounded like an M-80 going off. I no longer needed to hear a thud to know another body lay in the grave. I could see it, clear as day. Diego and I were now the only men left kneeling. I was going to die. And the worst part? No one would know where my body was. I would forever be a missing person. What kind of legacy was that?

  After Rooster had the back of his head hollowed out, Diego clamped up like a man getting his anus fingered for the first time. With nothing more to say, The Bulldog cocked the gun. I turned my head slightly to see a long barrel pressed against the back of Diego’s head. It was a six-shooter—Dirty Harry style. No wonder the shots sounded like cannons.

  I closed my eye before he pulled the trigger and tried to bury my left ear into my shoulder. Fail. The pain that erupted in my ear was piercing and filled it with a dull, high-pitched ringing. I thought for sure my eardrum had ruptured. What did it matter? I was next.

  I was partly deaf for the moment, I turned around to see what was going on. I saw The Bulldog reloading the pistol. One bullet at a time, he slipped them in. A quick spin, followed by a flick of the wrist and the cylinder snapped back into place. The door on my life had slammed shut.

  Next to me, Diego lay crumpled in the grave. He had such high hopes for his gang, but his reign of terror never got off the ground. Now he was dead, with what was left of his head cocked off to the side.

  I closed my eyes and tried to fill my mind with the things most important to me. What did I want my last memory to be? Hurry. Let the images of pure goodness flow. I was ready for a big smile to spread across my face before my brains were blown into chunks. Any second now… I’ve pressed the play button. Surely the trigger was about to be pulled. I’m waiting...

  Then it appeared, an image of Ralphie, the pug. He was Tav’s dog. But that was all wrong. The dog could not be the last image I saw. I ejected him from my head. And then Tav, my best friend, appeared, laughing. Next to him was a blond. It was, Izzy—my girlfriend. I remembered this moment. We had spent the day on Tomales Bay, shucking fresh oysters and drinking pinot grigio. It was a good time. They were the people who were closest to me. Mi familia.

  The barrel of the gun pushed against the back of my head and brought me back to reality. I bit down hard, squeezed my eyes closed, and hoped it didn’t hurt.

  Chapter 2

  Where’s the pain?

  I waited a few more seconds for doom, but still nothing. No click. No ear-rupturing explosion. No skull shattering death. What the hell was going on? Was I dead already?

  I turned around. The Bulldog had walked away and gathered with his men. He exchanged a few words before leaving. I was left kneeling and wondering. Was he getting a bigger gun? Was I not worth his time and someone else would take over? Was he setting me free?

  Then one of his men chambered a round in his sidearm. He walked up to me and pointed the barrel against the back of my head. I should have been dead a beat later but he bent down and checked my pockets first. Great, rob me before I bleed all over myself.

  He took my wallet and my cell phone. It was the latest smartphone from Teleco Wireless, the company I worked for. The phone wasn’t available outside of the U.S. and it was still a week away from launching in the States, but it was the most anticipated electronic item of the year. Teleco had procured two million pre-orders in the month leading up to the release date.

  My executioner summoned his boss with the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl who just got her first kiss. The Bulldog stopped and looked at the phone. Ten seconds later he was kneeling next to me.

  “Hey, gringo. Why are you here?”

  Surprise. The Bulldog spoke English with only a mild accent. He was also an ugly man. Both cheeks were bombarded with pockmarks and his hair was slicked back with grease.

  “I’m a salesman,” I managed. “I sold wireless products and phones to Diego.”

  “You are a salesman? Tell me, what is your name?”

  “Darby… Darby Stansfield.”

  “Mr. Stansfield,” The Bulldog said. He looked around for a minute, chewing on the corner of his mustache before turning back to me. “I don’t believe you.”

  I chocked up an answer. “It’s true. I’m a consultant. The gang hired me to find out how wireless business solutions could make their organization run efficiently.”

  “Efficiently?” The Bulldog let out a large belly laugh, inviting his crew to join in. It was one big laugh fest, but I failed to see the humor.

  Then, without warning, his fist smashed into the side of my face, sending me to the ground. The pain ricocheted inside of my skull like a pinball, nearly leaving me immobile. I looked up at The Bulldog. He was standing over me, his face devoid of any compassion. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Stansfield!”

  “Please. I’m telling the truth. I’m only a consultant.”

  The Bulldog bent down and leaned in. This time I noticed his face was round, his nose was flat and wide, and his breath smelled of tequila. When he smiled, his lips revealed tiny munchkin teeth.

  “We will know soon if you are lying.” He waved my wallet in front of my face. “We know where you live. If you are who you say you are, then you can get me two thousand of these phones, no problemo.”

  Phones? That’s what he wants? “Yes, I can get you the phones. I’ll place an order right away. I’ll even throw in my company discount of fifteen percent.”

  “Mr. Stansfield, you misinterpret my intentions. I have already paid for these phones,” he said, smiling as he stood up. “I am giving you your life. One week I expect delivery. If you miss this deadline, I will hunt you down and you will not die an easy death like your friends here. I promise you that.”

  Two thousand phones?

  For free?

  I get to live?

  No problemo.

  Chapter 3

  San Francisco, California

  Two weeks after my brush with death, life had returned to normal. My face had healed, the shipment of phones had been delivered, and I had a signature confirmation from The Bulldog himself. Friends and coworkers bought the I-got-mugged-on-a-business-trip story, or seemed to.

  It was a little aft
er ten in the morning. I sat quietly at my desk doodling on a piece of paper. Most the other salesman, or heavy-hitters, were out on calls. They call us that because of the sheer amount of money we bring into the company. It looked as if it would be another quiet day on the twelfth floor of Teleco. Great. I was getting tired of having to recount my mugging story for every hitter who walked through my office door.

  Across my office was a large window that offered unobstructed views of the bay, though I rarely took advantage of it. Maybe I should. My excursion to Mexico brought me closer to death than I ever had come before. It seemed to have an effect on me like nothing else. It made me want to take advantage of life. Until now, I had been so focused on my career that I had never once stopped to smell a flower.

  “Boo!”

  I snapped out of my peaceful daydream only to find Tav standing in my doorway with a lollipop in his mouth. He plopped himself down in a chair opposite my desk.

  “There’s a bunch of Halloween candy in the break room,” he said, sucking greedily. “Better hurry before all the good stuff is gone and all that are left are mints.”

  I pulled open my top drawer and whipped out a king-sized Snickers candy bar. “Way ahead of you, Tootsie Boy. I made a pass as soon as I rolled in this morning. You could have had one, too, if you had come into work with me rather than sleeping in.”

  Tav and I had been best friends since we were seven. It just so happens that we work at the same company, except Tav is an accountant and I’m in sales. We used to share a cubicle, but that was before I became a heavy-hitter and moved up to the twelfth floor. If that’s not enough, we also live together. There was some flooding at his place and he moved in temporarily and never moved out. It works.