Dead Lawyers Don't Lie: A Gripping Thriller (Jake Wolfe Book 1)

by Mark Nolan

  “Access the camera and microphone for me,” Zhukov said. He shook his head as he thought about how uninformed most people were about their privacy or lack thereof.

  “Working on it now, almost there. A new router came with the TV and… yes, Gwen left the default factory password on it. Okay check your phone.”

  Zhukov looked at his phone. It now featured a live video stream from inside the condo. He could see and hear everything that was happening in proximity to the TV. Gwen appeared in living color and rich sound.

  “Record everything she says and does,” Zhukov said. “And dig into Wolfe’s recent credit card usage, find his favorite bars and restaurants.”

  “Yes I’m on it, you’re welcome.”

  Zhukov ignored the sarcasm and ended the call. He watched and listened to Gwen for a minute. She was crying and talking to someone on her phone, saying that Jake had canceled the wedding and left her. It was evident that Wolfe would not be returning home tonight. Seeing the woman cry was bringing back sad memories of Tatiana, and making Zhukov thirsty for a drink of vodka. He told himself that it wasn’t like he had a drinking problem; it was just that this killing was such thirsty work and he did so much of it. Nobody else could ever understand his life because they had not lived it and breathed it. They had not walked a mile in his oboof, his shoes.

  “That woman probably has a bottle of vodka in the cupboard,” Zhukov said. “Maybe I should go back there and try to comfort her in her time of distress. Then she can tell me her best guess about where Wolfe might have gone.”

  He’d been seen by the neighbor, but she would only remember the fake glasses and hairpiece he’d been wearing. Gwen’s door was probably still unlocked. He could enter quietly and catch her by surprise, turn off the spy TV and then have a heart to heart talk with the attractive woman.

  Chapter 23

  The sun was low in the sky as Jake drove the streets of San Francisco, feeling heartbroken and homeless. After a while, he found himself in the parking lot at Clancy’s Irish Pub. He didn’t remember driving there. It seemed like his Jeep had gone to the pub on autopilot.

  He sat in his car wondering where he would sleep tonight, instead of in his own bed in his own home. He could always couch surf in the garage at Terrell’s place. In “the man cave” as Alicia called it. But then Alicia would naturally want Jake to talk about what had happened with Gwen. And Jake didn’t feel like talking about it. He wanted to forget about it, not re-live it.

  The best choice would be to stay onboard the boat that was owned by his good friend Dylan. It was moored at the Bonita Yacht Harbor, in the small town of Sausalito, just on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. Dylan was one of those Silicon Valley software millionaires. He currently lived in Dublin, Ireland. All of the large American software and internet companies had branch offices in Dublin.

  Although Dylan owned a beautiful sixty-foot Horizon PC60 Motor Yacht named the Far Niente, he never used it. He was always overseas, working on corporation type of stuff for his software empire. He was a wealthy world traveler and a serial entrepreneur who only came home to California once or twice a year.

  Jake had often borrowed the Far Niente for fishing trips. Now he wondered if Dylan would let him live on the boat, for longer than one night or a weekend. Jake didn’t want to wear out his welcome and take advantage of Dylan’s hospitality. But Dylan probably wouldn’t think twice about it. They were best friends. Gwen knew about the yacht, and she might show up there after midnight, drunk and waving her pistol around while Jake was asleep. On the other hand, she’d been drinking a lot already. Hopefully, she would soon be passed out asleep in her bed.

  Jake received a text message from his sister Nicole. She must have looked at the short videos of Gwen he’d sent. Nicole was a psychiatrist, and her opinions were usually helpful but sometimes annoying.

  Nicole: “Leave her, she’s abusive. Walk away and don’t look back.”

  Jake: “I’m already gone. I’ll be spending the night on Dylan’s boat, the Far Niente, at Bonita Yacht Harbor.”

  Nicole: “Next time, look for a woman who has a beautiful heart, not just a beautiful body.”

  Jake: “Truth.”

  Nicole: “Love ya bro.”

  Jake: “Love you too.”

  Jake sat there in the Jeep for a moment, thinking things over. Leaving Gwen had been the right thing to do; the only thing to do. But he still felt as if one of his best friends had died. He took a deep breath and let it out. A drink or two at the pub sounded good right about now. But in his current mood, that could lead to a very long evening, a taxi ride afterward and a killer hangover in the morning. He thought about his good friend Stuart who had died so young. He was going to Stuart’s funeral tomorrow, and he knew that he should honor his friend’s memory by being thankful to be alive, instead of feeling sorry for himself. He exited the pub parking lot and drove toward the Golden Gate Bridge, on his way to the Far Niente.

  While Zhukov was driving in a search pattern and looking for Wolfe’s vehicle, he received a call from Elena and he answered the call as he drove.

  “Have you tracked his phone yet?” Zhukov said.

  “No I’ve been trying to hack into his phone but he’s using some kind of encryption on it,” Elena said. “But I was able to hack into his mother’s phone and email. Her password is her two kids’ birthdays. She just now received a text from her daughter Nicole, saying that tonight Wolfe will be sleeping on a boat named the Far Niente.”

  Zhukov’s phone vibrated and he received a text with a link to a map that showed the location of the boat. He drove toward the Golden Gate Bridge and he thought that this was good luck because if Wolfe was alone on a boat, he would be easier to kill. He used his phone to go online to Google Earth and glance at the details of the yacht harbor. Google had unwittingly helped Zhukov to kill so many people. He should buy some stock in the company as a way to thank them for acting like a no cost spy agency.

  He would catch Wolfe by surprise and shoot him in the back before the man even knew what was happening. He believed that so-called “fair play” was for fairy tales. In the real world, only cold brutality and ruthlessness could prevail.

  Chapter 24

  As Jake headed toward Sausalito, his stomach growled with hunger. He called a restaurant near the harbor and ordered a pizza to go with everything on it. It was just easier to say “that combination one with everything on it” than to try to remember the names that pizza restaurants came up with for their concoctions.

  The lady who was taking the order said, “Oh you mean the kitchen sink pizza? It has everything on it but the kitchen sink.”

  “That works for me,” Jake said.

  Jake ended the call, and as he drove across the Golden Gate Bridge he saw an incredible sunset in the sky and on the water. The sun appeared to be an orange and purple ball that was sinking into the sea. It was halfway submerged, but its reflection on the water made it look whole. The top half was solid, the bottom half was shimmering and wavy. Jake felt that he was on the right path in life, without any baggage. He was a free man, and things could only get better from here on out. What else could possibly go wrong?

  Zhukov arrived at the harbor before Wolfe, and he decided to check out the yacht while he was waiting for his target to arrive. Perhaps if the layout inside the boat was right, he’d hide in there and shoot Wolfe when he came through the door.

  He walked down to the boat slips and didn’t see any visible activity or any lights on in the vessels that were docked near the Far Niente. Many people only used their boats on the weekends. Other people who might live on board their vessels had not yet come home from work.

  When Zhukov got to the Far Niente, he picked the lock on the sliding glass door, went inside and looked around. He noticed that the yacht was not overly large but it was a good quality vessel, and it must have cost a small fortune. He wondered how a photojournalist could afford to own such an expensive boat as this. Jake Wolfe must be accepting
bribes to run news stories that flattered politicians and criminal organizations.

  On the other hand, a smaller sized pre-owned yacht of this year and type would sell for the same price as many houses and condominiums did in San Francisco. In fact, this boat would probably cost the same or less than the median home price in the city. And there wouldn’t be a property tax bill to pay, just a monthly rental fee on a boat slip where the vessel could be berthed. A power yacht might also be easier to sell than a home because it could be sailed and delivered to a buyer in various parts of the world.

  He noticed a Van Gogh painting on the wall. He had a deep appreciation for the artist, and he was surprised that he and Wolfe shared that in common. Next he found an end table he recognized as one that housed a cigar humidor. He picked the lock and saw that it was lined with Spanish cedar and filled with premium handmade cigars including many brands he knew.

  It would have been nice to steal all of the cigars, but there were too many of them, dozens of boxes and hundreds of cigars. Right now he only had the time and the room in his backpack to grab one box. Opening the top drawer above the cabinet’s door, Zhukov saw a travel size humidor box that was filled with a mixed assortment of individual cigars and a Boveda 69% Humidification Packet to keep them fresh. He smiled and placed the flat rectangular box into his backpack. Wolfe wouldn’t miss these once he was dead, and it was a shame to let them go to waste.

  Checking the liquor cabinet, he saw some bottles of good quality vodka. There was Ocean Vodka from Maui, Square One Organic, and Russian Standard Gold. Zhukov put the Russian Standard Gold into his backpack. It was exotic vodka made from the golden roots of ginseng plants, instead of from grains or potatoes. He was surprised to see it in Wolfe’s liquor cabinet, and he wondered if Wolfe had dated a Russian woman with good taste in vodka but poor taste in men.

  While opening and closing some more drawers and cabinet doors, Zhukov’s phone vibrated and he received a text message from his hacker. Elena wrote: Wolfe is close. I got into his bank account and it shows that he just bought a pizza, right down the street from the harbor.

  It was time to get back to the parking lot and finish this. Zhukov decided that the inside of the yacht was not the right place for the attack on Wolfe. It would be best to shoot the man as he got out of his vehicle and then make a quick getaway. For a moment Zhukov considered the idea of pouring out the contents of several liquor bottles all over the furniture and then lighting a candle that would slowly burn down until it ignited everything… but he didn’t have time right now, and he could always return and do that later if he was in the mood.

  Jake sat in his Jeep in the restaurant parking lot, eating a slice of the hot pizza while trying not to burn his mouth. As he ate he made humorous grunting noises of approval, “Mmm, oh yeah, arhh, good.”

  After Jake had finished off the slice of pizza, he drove toward the Harbor. When he arrived he glanced around to make sure he didn’t see Gwen’s car parked anywhere, or any sign of the attorney assassin. The parking lot looked quiet and deserted.

  Jake parked and turned off the engine. He reached for his camera bag, and for a moment he felt the familiar sense of impending danger. It was the same feeling he’d had at the golf course just before that lawyer had been shot. He wished that his dog Gracie was with him now. Her keen sense of smell would have warned them both if any threat was nearby.

  Jake got out of the Jeep and put his camera backpack on his back, then picked up the pizza box and set the small paper bag on top that held the little to-go containers of parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes. Rather than walking around behind his Jeep and into the streetlight glow of the open parking lot the way most people would have done, he instead went around the front of the Jeep. This simple tactic kept him in-between the two rows of vehicles as he walked quickly toward the docks.

  Once Jake got to the end of the row of cars, he jogged across the remaining parking lot and then headed down to the boat slips. Now he had some sailboats and motor yachts blocking him from view, and he was out of the line of sight of anyone who might have been watching. Jake went quickly down his own narrow wooden dock toward the slip where the Far Niente was berthed. His eyes glanced around, and his ears were alert to the sounds of the other boats in the marina. He also looked over his shoulder several times to see if anyone had followed him. All seemed quiet, and he didn’t notice anything unusual.

  When Jake reached the Far Niente, he placed one foot onto the gangway and reached one hand for a railing, while he still had one foot on the dock and was using his other hand to hold the pizza box. He was distracted, and the pizza box tilted and almost slipped out of his hand, but his reflexes saved it from falling. However, he was not able to prevent the small paper bag on top from sliding off of the box and falling onto the dock.

  “Oh come on, do not go in the water,” Jake said.

  The paper bag stayed on the wood planks, and he went down on one knee and bent forward to pick it up off of the dock. As Jake reached for the paper bag, he heard the familiar snap sound that a bullet makes when it breaks the sound barrier as it goes flying past near your head. Jake had never liked that sound much or the people who caused it when they took a shot at him. This was going to make him angry in a special way any moment now, but first his survival reflexes kicked in.

  Chapter 25

  Jake dropped the pizza box on the dock and dove forward over it and onto the wooden planks ahead of him. He moved just in time to dodge two more bullets that struck a neighbor’s sailboat nearby. He stayed low and commando-crawled on the dock, moving past the starboard side of the Far Niente to gain some cover. Luckily the shots appeared to be coming from over by the parking lot, and the boat would now block the shots as long as Jake kept his head down. However if the shooter moved closer and got into the right position, Jake would be a sitting duck.

  He was still wearing his backpack, and as he took it off he noticed it had a bullet hole in a side pocket where a round had barely missed hitting him. He reached into the pack and took out his pistol, put his backpack on again and then eased into the water. He held the pistol above him as he swam with a one-handed sidestroke around the stern of the yacht toward the next boat slip. A bullet sizzled past him, but it went high.

  Jake climbed up onto the dock of the next boat slip, now hidden from sight by the Far Niente, yet positioned to run and shoot.

  When Jake had heard the first round he’d thought for a moment that maybe Gwen was so angry that she’d followed him and tried to shoot him. But the quiet sound the weapon had made indicated that the shooter was using a suppressor, and it was doubtful Gwen had one of those. This was a professional killer stalking him. It must be the attorney assassin, just as Terrell had warned him about. As Jake stayed in a crouch, he thought about how he could simply run and hide, that way he’d be sure to survive and live another day. But his Marine training overruled that notion. In his mind, he heard the voice of his drill instructor yelling at him.

  “Repeat after me, Marines always run toward the fighting!”

  Jake jumped up and ran straight toward the shooter’s location, with the pistol held in front of him. He heard footsteps, and then the roar of a car engine and the squealing of tires on pavement. He took a risk and ran to an open gap between two parked cars.

  A Mercedes-Benz was driving away fast. Jake ran to his Jeep, got in and took off in hot pursuit of the escaping car. He raced down a side street that was currently empty of other moving vehicles, and he drove at reckless speeds while trying to catch up with the shooter.

  The driver of the fleeing car began taking evasive maneuvers down side streets and around corners. The man drove as if he’d been trained at high-speed tactical driving. Jake lost him for a moment but then spotted him farther down the road, getting onto Highway 101 to travel back toward San Francisco.

  Jake drove fast on the highway and across the Golden Gate Bridge, then continued in pursuit up and down the hills and streets of San Francisco. The car ahead manage
d to leave Jake behind again, but he caught up with it on 16th Street heading toward the Mission Bay neighborhood. Jake’s car windows were down and he had his pistol next to him on the seat. He knew he should call Terrell and tell him what was happening, but he couldn’t take his hands off the steering wheel to make a phone call while he was driving like a madman.

  He closed the distance as both vehicles were approaching some railroad tracks at the crossing where 16th Street passed under the overpass. There was a train coming toward the crossing from the right. The railway crossing bells were clanging, and signal lights were flashing. The red-and-white-striped boom gate barrier arms started lowering down across the street.

  The shooter in the car ahead didn’t slow down; he drove straight at the barrier. The train conductor began blaring his air horn and using his brakes, causing a spray of sparks on the tracks as he tried to slow down.

  Jake didn’t have a death wish. He knew the stopping distance required of his Jeep at this speed, so he stomped his brakes hard. The Jeep fishtailed, and the rear end of the driver’s side of the vehicle started coming around to the left. Jake steered left into the skid to avoid spinning out in a circle, and the Jeep drifted crossed-up sideways in a barely controlled power slide toward the train tracks.

  The fleeing vehicle ahead of him drove across the tracks right in front of the train and crashed through both barrier arms, barely getting out of the way of the locomotive in time to avoid a collision. In the last seconds while Jake was sliding sideways in the Jeep on squealing tires, he took his right hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his pistol. He only had a moment to fire one shot out of his open driver’s side window at the fleeing car before the train would block it from view. Jake aimed and pulled the trigger, and a second later the train roared through the crossing.