DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2)

by Patterson, Aaron

  The president almost fell over as he got to his feet. He had four bodyguards at the door, but for some reason, they didn’t come into the room to aid their boss.

  “What do you want? I am just a businessman, please don’t kill me!” The fat man spit all over as he spoke. The smell in the hot, humid room would make a rat gag. The dingy office was littered with papers and old cigar butts. The back window was busted out and flies buzzed around.

  “I’m going to speak slowly so you are sure to understand. You work for me now. I am your new boss. I’m God to you! You understand? This factory will be painted and so clean that, when I come back in a month, I can eat off the floor!”

  Taras walked over to the terrified man and shoved his finger in his face. He squirmed beneath Taras. “One month! If I see a speck of dirt, I will use your fat, wet body to mop the floor! You got it?”

  The man nodded and closed his eyes, expecting to be beaten. Taras wished he could come against a man with some backbone. He had killed the only man who had ever given him a run for his money. Kirk Weston…it just wasn’t the same without him.

  “Let’s go, Abe.” Taras opened the door to the small office and a body fell onto the floor. The bodyguard’s neck was opened up, and blood flowed out as he stared into the air with dark, lifeless eyes. The president screamed like a girl and Taras laughed. That was funny. This fat pig just made my day!

  The plant was dirty and stunk like burnt rubber and sewage. Taras couldn’t bring himself to even look around anymore. He wanted to have an operation that was efficient and clean. He was only asking for the best, and that was what he planned on getting.

  “Can you believe that hole? This place better be spotless when we return. I hate a dirty place of business.”

  Abe nodded and opened the door to a black BMW. They had a few more stops to make. The hot, humid air was suffocating and sticky, and sand was everywhere…sand and dirt. Even the water was murky and lukewarm, and Taras refused to drink it, opting instead for bottled water. He opened a fresh one and took a long drink, then he spat it out. It wasn’t even cold.

  Taras looked out at the dusty landscape. The city wasn’t far, and he wanted to get something to eat before he starved to death. I hate this place, and I’ve only been here a few hours. What a dump! But money had a way of making you go places you normally wouldn’t go…and do things you wouldn’t normally do. For Taras, he liked being the boss, but it was the fear he thrived on. America was soon going to feel that fear. The thought brought a smile to Taras’s face.

  * * *

  EMILY DOBSON WATCHED MARK and Kirk walk from an office building and get into a yellow cab. She was always one step ahead of them, and this excited her.

  Detroit was balmy, the spring air was leaving, and the pollution came in its place. Detroit used to be a city of lights and action. It had a certain allure of a bad boy city and a place to party. Every year, the city lost more of its luster, and even the old movies that used to boast of the city as a bad boy hangout had disappeared. Now, it was just another city trying to attract new business and survive.

  Emily sat on a Harley Fat Boy with ape hangers. She wore leather chaps and a half helmet with her hair sticking out underneath. The cab headed north and she was right behind it. She was a pro at the art of tailing. The trick was to be noticeable. The bike was seen, and then forgotten about. The driver wasn’t even looked at because everyone just drooled over the chrome on the bike. She was also an experienced rider, and if it came to it, she could hold her own against anyone. Where are you going, my little friend? Are you going to see your old friend Mooch?

  The neighborhood changed into a charming little community of houses and perfect little lawns. Sycamore trees lined the streets and one house even had a white picket fence with a fresh coat of paint on it.

  The cab came to a stop in front of a small, green house. The yard was in need of mowing, and the fence had a broken gate. The neighbors had to be ticked off by their unsightly neighbors. But then again, everyone has a neighbor like that.

  A tall, blond-haired man stepped out of the cab and looked her way. She smiled and pulled right up to the curb and shut off her bike. Her heart was racing a thousand miles a minute. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She was standing right in front of Mark Appleton!

  * * *

  I HAD SEEN THE Fat Boy tailing us and kept an eye on it from the time we got in the cab. For a moment, I thought we were not the only ones who knew we were here, and then I realized that we might just have the same destination as the girl biker. Better just address her straight on. “Hello, I’m Mark, and this is Kirk Weston.”

  “Hello, I’m Emily, Emily Dobson.” She was medium build, and when she pulled off her helmet, a pile of deep mahogany hair fell over her shoulders. She was a striking woman. Kirk was taking in everything without a word.

  “You must be looking for Mooch,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I’m his girlfriend!”

  I tried not to, but I raised my eyebrows. From everything I’d heard from Kirk, Mooch was the class nerd with an addiction to potato chips and soda. I couldn’t help thinking this woman was a little out of his league.

  “Oh, you don’t say.” Kirk had a smile the size of Texas on his face. He was thinking the same thing.

  “Well, come on in. Are you friends of Moochie’s?”

  This time, we both laughed. “Moochie? Oh, he won’t live that one down,” Kirk said.

  The house was trimmed with white around the windows, and a cat was looking at us with disdain in its eyes as we walked up the steps and knocked on the door. Emily Dobson pushed the door open and walked in. We followed as Kirk chuckled under his breath. I shot a glance at him and he looked back with a scowl. He was back to his grumpy old self in a heartbeat. Good, I needed him to be on the job.

  This house was made up like an old hen’s coop. The knickknacks and lace under everything had an I live with my Mom kind of feel.

  The lady of the house wasn’t home, and Mooch was holed up in the basement. I could smell the salt from Doritos and old pizza as we descended the stairs. I’d had a nice talk with Kirk about keeping quiet about the Agency, and we had come up with a good story to use as a cover on the ride over.

  The basement was cluttered with books, comics, empty pizza boxes, and Dr. Pepper cans. Mooch sat hunched over a computer and had four flat screens lined up on his desk. He looked up and stared at the two of us like we had just come to ruin his party.

  “Hey, Moochie!” Kirk laughed and charged the startled geek. “Glad you finally found yourself a girlfriend. What are you, like, thirty now?”

  “What’s all this?” Mooch stood and started backing into the corner of the cramped basement. “Detective Weston, why are you here? In my basement!”

  Mooch leaned forward in his chair as if he wanted to run. He was thin and had a scruffy beard, and long dreadlocks hanging like ropes from his oversized head. He had a slumping, slick way about him, but under all the hair, he wasn’t a bad looking guy.

  “Easy, we just need your help on something. This is my new partner, Mark Appleton. He’s part of a joint task force we are on to try to catch a killer.”

  I nodded and let Kirk handle the small talk. Mooch seemed to relax some, but by the look on his face, he didn’t look like he trusted me.

  “So where do you know these guys from, honey?” Emily wrapped herself around Mooch and looked up at us.

  “Uh…this is Kirk Weston—he’s an old friend—and his partner, what was it? Mark?”

  “Yes, I’m Mark Appleton. Now, we apologize for the impromptu visit, but we really could use your help.” I looked at Mooch and then back at Emily, trying to figure out where the attraction was. Mooch, he was a nerd, and well…Emily was not.

  “Well, then, I’ll leave you guys to talk shop. I’ll be upstairs making lunch. You’ll be hungry, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks, hon.” Mooch kissed Emily and watched her as she left the room. “Pretty hot, huh?” He had a
stupid grin on his face and he winked at us.

  Kirk laughed and motioned for Mooch to sit down.

  “Look, we need to find a guy named Taras Karjanski, otherwise known as the Red

  Dog and The General. My agency lost him, and Kirk here says you are well gifted in the PC world.” I hoped this wasn’t a waste of time. Every minute that passed left a killer and madman on the loose.

  “Well, I am the master of disaster, if I may say so myself. But I come at a price…”

  Kirk grabbed his shoulder and growled. “How about I lock you up and forget to visit! No internet, no personal computer!”

  Mooch twisted free and looked at me for support.

  “How does twenty thousand sound?” I offered.

  “Now you’re talking. See, you could be a little nicer!” Mooch glared at Kirk and sunk into his high-backed chair.

  “Shut up!” Kirk slapped the back of Mooch’s head, which made dust fly through the air, and Kirk got a sideways look from me. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was like two married people, and the annoyed look on Kirk’s face made it all worth it.

  After he logged on, Mooch explained the website and inlaid traps on the Karjanski’s family web page. “We can get in some serious trouble if we get caught. This is, like, totally not cool.” Mooch said.

  “Just do it.” Kirk mumbled.

  Mooch typed and brought up a page with a ten digit password that had a timer on it. “If I don’t get it right in twenty seconds it will automatically…” Mooch typed in codes like a true hacker. “Got it!”

  I looked at the voice encoded speech bar that appeared on the screen. “Okay, now what?” Mooch looked at me for the next move. I couldn’t think of anything to get us by this block in the security.

  Kirk looked over at me with a smug look on his face. “Ask me nicely.”

  “What?” I didn’t have time for games, but the detective seemed to like playing them. His ego needed to be stroked about every other second. “Fine, what does the dead detective have?”

  Kirk rolled his eyes and pulled out a digital recorder. He hit the play button and the voice of The General Karjanski came on, reciting the exact code to get by the security screen. “Who da man?”

  “I won’t even ask.” Kirk liked to be the tough cop, it was the façade he was used to. And with what he’d probably seen in his lifetime, I couldn’t blame him. I also could see that way down deep, he had a big heart. It was just way down.

  The dark red screen had a background that looked like blood sliding down a wall. On one side, as Mooch explained, was a list of people who were logged on, and on the other side was a chat box. Kirk looked at the names and said, “I don’t see him logged on. I say we log on as the Red Dog and go fishing.” The gamble was that Red Dog wouldn’t try to log on while we were there. If he did, then he would know he was being hacked and change all the security, making it all but impossible to get back on.

  “Give it a try, we don’t have anywhere to go, and we need a lead.”

  Mooch entered the screen name Kirk gave him and within seconds we got a hit. The screen name Blackmamba22 popped up and said, RD, you’re late for a very important date.

  “Kirk, you need to be Taras, what would he say?”

  “Get up, let me type.” Kirk sat down and looked at the screen.

  Reddog: Never late...you’re just early.

  Blackmamba22: Then, I will be on time next time.

  I wondered if we could track the user Blackmamba22 and find out where it was coming from. Mooch must have read my mind because he slipped over to a second computer and started a trace. He looked over at Kirk. “Keep him talking.”

  Reddog: Do you have what I want?

  The answer came back after a long pause that seemed like forever. I wondered who we were dealing with and hoped he bought our chatter as the real deal.

  Blackmamba22: I think you will be happy with the merchandise.

  Reddog: For your sake, I hope so.

  Mooch waved his hand and turned the screen he was working on so we could see. The map he had pulled up was in Africa. Before we could say anything, the user Blackmamba22 logged off and only one other user was left online. I nodded to Kirk to try to engage the other person in the private chat room. Mooch started another scan and the Reddog started to engage user Hottie669.

  So far, Kirk seemed to be getting away with his alter ego. I hoped we weren’t pushing our luck. If anyone logged on while we were on, I was going to abort the chat room.

  Reddog: Did you need something?

  Hottie669 did not answer. The room went silent, other than Mooch and his excited typing. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. The feeling of panic washed over me like a warning bell.

  Hottie669: I already got it!

  “Abort! Kirk, log off, now!” I looked over at Mooch who looked white as a ghost. He was staring at the screen and looking at an address. It was an address in Detroit, it was the residence of…

  “You boys looking for me?” Everyone froze as I spun around just in time to feel blazing fire shoot through my shoulder. The force of the impact twisted me around and sent me crashing into the computer desk. Papers, food, CDs, and everything else on the desk went flying. The lights went out, and I could hear the sound of Kirk grunting and Mooch screaming like a girl.

  I felt sharp trails of new pain claw their way up my neck and into my head. It was dark in the room except for the glowing monitors and flashing equipment. All I saw was thick, choking blackness. Then, I could feel my body falling. It felt like a never-ending hole in the floor. Then, all went quiet.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE DINER WAS RUN down and dirty, to say the least. The plaster was cracking and falling off the walls. Taras could see into the kitchen and saw a whole pig hanging from a hook, gently swinging back and forth. It reminded him of back home in Russia, when they would shop in the open-air market. Ah, the good old days! Meat was open to the air with large black flies buzzing around the sides of beef, goat hindquarters, and various other meats. If you wanted a pound of beef, then the butcher would carve off a slab, wrap it in brown paper, and hand it to you.

  Times change. Now everyone was running around scared of the Swine Flu or Mad Cow Disease. No one seemed to wonder where all of these deadly diseases went after all the hype had been kicked out of them by the government and the news media. That was the thing with the Americans, they were programmed to fear. They were taught from a young age to fear this or that. Taras knew, in the end, this predisposition would make his job a lot easier. He would step in and take over where the media had left off.

  Abe sat in silence and looked at the menu, looking for something that sounded good. The choices, and what might end up on his plate, could in some cases be as different as night and day.

  Taras sighed and decided on the grilled chicken with a side of yams.

  “You like the chicken? And for you, sir?” The waiter was black as coal and had a smile that showed all his teeth. They looked like keys on a piano.

  Abe looked up and smiled.

  “I think I might try the goat. Just make sure it is cooked through.” The thin African smiled and hurried off. Taras grunted and looked around the room with disgust. He thought about his meal, and about his childhood. This was not the time or the place to be thinking about either. The food was likely to be filled with God knows what, and his childhood, well, he didn’t have good memories about that subject. But it was hard to tell his brain to stop thinking about something once it started.

  When he thought about his home, it always made him sink into a bad mood. The streets had potholes the size of Volkswagens, and many of the businesses had paint peeling off the walls and rusty metal bars bolted over the windows.

  The food came after more than twenty minutes, with a dingy glass of water. This place gives me the creeps. What a dump! The two men ate in silence as the three-bladed ceiling fan spun above their heads with jerky movements and a grinding sound that worried Taras a little. T
aras had thoughts of his own rolling around in his head, like a marble in a gas tank. The things he thought about would sometimes make him shudder in horror. However, he couldn’t help it.

  The only other place they had to go was an oil refinery project in Angola, where he had a new interest in progress. He smiled at himself as he thought of the days when a great lord or warrior would fight at the palace gates and take over the throne. Times had changed, but he was still fighting for the throne.

  “We leave tonight,” Taras spoke without looking up from his chicken. “There is someone I want to meet.”

  The true oil tycoons had dropped in number over the last few years with OPEC and the United States pushing for change. The game of chess was just about over. The pawns were almost in place, and with the king in jeopardy, he would pronounce checkmate in short order. The only sad part was that he was the only one playing, so how could he lose? It made the game a touch boring, but he took heart. He had someone in mind to bring into the game to add the level of excitement he so desperately wanted.

  After he finished his dry chicken and overcooked yams, he pulled out his billfold and grabbed a twenty and a small piece of paper the size of a business card. He would leave a tip to go along with the meal. Abe stood up and walked to the door as Taras placed the white, blank card on the very edge of a full glass of water. Abe was not completely finished with his meal but was used to moving when Taras did.

  The food was terrible and the service was slow. This restaurant needed new owners. The black BMW pulled away and disappeared down the street. Taras looked back at the restaurant, even though he knew his act of terror wouldn’t have effect for another few hours. When his table was being cleared, the card would slide into the water, causing an invisible vapor to rise into the air. With the aid of the ceiling fan, the powerful poison was dispersed through the air and spread throughout the building. It was a nerve gas that would cause the infected body to reject oxygen. The patrons and anyone else exposed to the gas would be dead by morning. He regretted that he couldn’t stay and watch them suffocate. But if there’s one thing he knew about life it was that he couldn’t always have what he wanted.