The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

For some odd reason, the quick snapshot of Corey’s ass had taken me down memory lane—my time with Mario. I realized that was an odd leap to make. Mario didn’t have a white ass, but their body types were similar. Maybe that was why my head went in that direction. In the past, recalling old times with Mario had always brought a smile to my face. But after seeing him cavorting with a man whose moniker was Powder Man, the positive memories were almost overshadowed by dark possibilities.

  He had been such a caring, compassionate person. He had one of those souls that calmed me, as if he were actually about ten years older than the rest of us in high school. How the same Mario I knew could be part of an operation that hooked kids and adults alike on drugs was unimaginable. And with the associated violence and killing in his native Mexico, along with it spilling into the border towns of the US, I didn’t see how he could live with himself.

  I finally found a station that diverted my attention from the bittersweet thoughts of Mario, as well as my upcoming conversation with my dad. I tapped my hands on the steering wheel to the beat of a fast-paced song from Maroon 5 called “Sugar.” But when I turned off the ignition and walked up the sidewalk, I could feel my hands turn warm and clammy.

  “Hey,” Dad said without making eye contact as he opened the door. He had one hand in his front pocket. I took another quick gander of the neighborhood—not elite, like Teresa’s, but it was upper middle class. Dad’s financial and personal turnaround had been nothing short of miraculous. Just a few months ago, he was bouncing from home to home. When I met him for lunch in DC, he’d smelled like booze. I studied his face as I walked into the foyer. His sagging cheeks had a pink tone. He seemed outright pissed.

  “Dad, I think we need to go somewhere and talk…privately.”

  He pressed his lips together and extended his arm toward the living room. I took three timid steps and found Carly huddled on the edge of a rattan sofa with palm-tree-print cushions. I couldn’t help but notice the glass on the round coffee table sat on top of about a thousand chipped seashells, all types and colors.

  Carly was looking down, her hands grasping a tumbler of something amber. I wondered if it was brandy or whiskey—the last thing she needed and the last temptation Dad needed.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Carly lifted her red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying.

  “Only if you have something like water or a soft drink.”

  She shook her head once and smirked. “You think this is booze, don’t you?”

  She was on the offensive.

  “I never said that.”

  “I can see it in your face. Do you think I would do that to your father? I know his past, what he’s been through. This is cider. I made it myself.” She tipped back her head and took in a mouthful. “It’s actually quite good. Can I get you some?” Her mood had improved in just a couple of seconds.

  What better way to ensure she was telling the truth. “Sure, that would be nice.”

  Dad turned around, crossed his arms, and stared at the backyard while Carly went to the kitchen. She returned a minute later and set my glass on a coaster with the emblem of the US Coast Guard on it.

  Carly patted the seat next to her on the couch. “Donald.” When he didn’t respond, she tried turning around, but stopped halfway and reached for her neck. “You know my neck won’t let me turn that far. Come join us. I know we need to have a family discussion.”

  My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I reached for my drink. Family discussion. Since when did she become part of my family?

  The cider wasn’t half bad.

  “How do you like it?” she asked, curling a loose strand of brunette hair around her ear that had at least four piercings. I wondered where else she had piercings.

  My brooding father shuffled in our direction and sat next to Carly.

  “This is good. How did you make it?” I asked.

  “Old family recipe.”

  “Do you have family in the area?”

  “I moved here in my late teens. Originally from Sacramento. I still have a couple of siblings who live in California. Both my parents died a few years back.”

  A tear bubbled in her eye so quickly I thought it had fallen from the ceiling. She wiped it away. I could sense a lot of emotion in the room, from both her and my dad.

  “Well, let’s get it over with,” Dad, said, finally speaking. His arms were still crossed.

  I licked my dry lips, prepared to open the conversation. I paused and swallowed more cider.

  “I knew you’d like it,” Carly said with a wink.

  I got the sense she was trying to influence my sentiment toward her. I just nodded, then said, “I don’t mean to put you in an awkward—”

  “You just couldn’t let your daddy be happy? I knew you’d turn on that FBI sixth sense and not stop.”

  A rush of heat invaded my neck. “Dad, FBI or not, I don’t want to see you get hurt, physically or otherwise.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  I reached for my purse and dug until I found my phone.

  Carly set her glass down and huffed out a tired breath. “A woman can only leave her past behind if others around her allow her to do it.”

  She locked eyes with me, as if she was pleading for me not to go any further.

  I chose not to respond.

  “You can put that phone away. I’ll admit my past,” she said.

  I palmed the phone in my lap, waiting for her to continue. I shifted my eyes over to my dad, who was staring down at the table as if he were intrigued by one of the seashells. I knew he wasn’t.

  Carly tipped back her head and swallowed more cider, her eyes rolling back slightly in her head. She finished by wiping her mouth with her arm. I began to question if that was indeed cider.

  “You’re going to actually make me do it?” she sighed, her arms splayed. She nearly knocked my dad in the head with her empty glass. He took it from her hand and set it on the table, without a coaster.

  I swiped my thumb across the phone screen and found the file I had reviewed earlier. I then held the phone up. “So, Dad, you’re aware of all the forgery and drug convictions?”

  He nodded. “Alex, I know everything. She told me everything.”

  I considered the impact of mentioning her other conviction.

  “Just to ensure I feel two inches high, I’ll say the words. I was a prostitute. A whore.” Carly’s eyes narrowed into tiny little slits.

  “I’m not trying to embarrass you or bring up any type of demons.”

  “Well, you’re not succeeding,” she said as tears practically shot out of her eyes.

  “You happy now?” Dad pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to Carly, then rubbed her leg.

  “Dad…” I paused for a second, giving Carly a moment to gather herself.

  A few seconds later, Dad leaned his elbows on his knees. “Is that all you came for?”

  I knew I couldn’t leave without showing the video and asking the real question. “I need to show you something.”

  I looked down at my screen and found the video file and tapped it twice, then I held up the video for Dad and Carly to see. Their eyes didn’t blink.

  “You want to show us people getting shot and killed? I know you’re with the FBI and all, but that’s a little twisted, isn’t it, Alex?”

  “Just wait a moment, Dad.”

  I’d seen the video a dozen times, maybe more, but as the footage played out, I could once again feel the terror of everyone at the scene. The screams, the shaking camera, the quivering voices, and people crumpling to the ground after being shot.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dad wiping his palms on his shorts. Maybe he felt the same way I did—uncomfortable with reliving the scene. And maybe he’d be just as shocked as I was to see one of the shooters targeting Carly.

  A moment later, the unmasked shooter appeared on the screen, his finger on the trigger, spraying bullets out of his semi-automatic rifle. The knuckles on my hand
holding the phone looked like white caps. I tried to keep the phone steady as I took in this viewpoint of the shooting and thought of the view from where I had been kneeling when he turned down our aisle.

  Right there! That was when he turned his focus to Carly curled up on the ground. I gazed at both Carly and Dad. He continued rubbing his hands on his shorts, and Carly just sat there void of emotion or any type of expression.

  “Did you just see that?”

  I pressed pause, and the screen froze just after Archie had shot the armed man, who then reached for his bloodied shoulder and began to fall backward.

  “It’s god-awful,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Never want anyone in my family to experience that again.”

  Carly erupted from her trance. “I hope the authorities hunt down these bastards and shoot them dead without asking a single question. That’s all they deserve,” she said, stabbing her finger at the screen, her voice animated, her back perfectly erect.

  My dad reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. Her spine became less rigid, and she slowly retreated from her aggressive position and settled into my dad’s arms. But her eyes never left mine. I couldn’t determine what she was communicating to me. Defiance against me or law enforcement? Her desire for retribution against the assailants? Or was there something deeper?

  “I understand your revulsion in watching these men terrorize everyone, you guys included. But you must have seen that man brazenly walk up and…hold on, let me show it again.”

  “Alex, we don’t need to see it again. We lived it, and we’ll both have nightmares for the next year because of it,” Dad said, holding up a hand and shaking his head.

  “Dad…” I could feel a swell of emotion rising through my chest. I was pissed and upset. But I knew that losing control right now would derail the intent of my discussion.

  I released a full breath until my lungs emptied, then made another attempt. “I’m going to play this one more time. I’d like your feedback.”

  Carly said, “This is our damn house, and we’re letting her dictate what we watch and don’t watch?”

  With my eyes on the phone, I slid the video back about twenty seconds and withheld the urge to snap back at Carly. Dad didn’t respond to her comment either, so I hit play and let the scene play out.

  “Get ready for it,” I said, hovering my finger near the screen. “There! Did you see that?” I tried like hell to avoid stating what I wanted them to admit to seeing.

  “What? What am I looking at other than your buddy Archie shooting that son of a bitch? I just wish he had better aim and the bullet had put a hole between his eyes.”

  “Hell yes, Donny.” Carly reached up and gave my dad a high-five.

  Did that just happen? I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if the maturity level of these two had dipped to that of a fourteen-year-old boy playing one of those violent video games.

  “Are you guys for real?”

  “Why, that’s no way to talk to your father.” Carly tried pushing off Dad to sit up…as if she were challenging me.

  I forced myself to count to three as I bit into my cheek.

  “The video. I guess I’ll have to spoon-feed you. Did you not see clearly that the man was targeting Carly?”

  She gasped, and my dad scratched his scruff. I could see his hand trembling.

  “I’m waiting for a response. This is serious shit.”

  “I can’t give you a response for something that didn’t happen,” Dad said.

  I tried to rein in my breathing cadence. “Do you need your glasses, Dad?”

  “I could see that screen perfectly fine. But what I’m seeing isn’t the issue. It’s what I’m hearing out of your mouth. You’re insinuating something. What exactly?”

  “I was hoping that, as adults, you would open up and tell me. I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you. Carly was targeted by a bunch of thugs most likely tied to a drug gang or cartel. The question is why? What is she mixed up in now?”

  Carly propelled herself off my dad’s chest, moving to within a couple feet of my face.

  “I have never in my life been treated like such trash, even in my darkest days. This is reprehensible.” Her face turned beet red as she turned back to Dad. “And, I say again, she’s doing this in our house.”

  As sure as the strong southerly winds whipping across South Padre Island, I knew Carly was desperately trying to deflect the focus of this conversation. She’d yet to discuss the actual point I was trying to make. I felt like I was watching a street corner bait and switch game. The only question was…would dad buy any of it?

  He looked at both of the women in his life. His lips parted for a split second, then he momentarily turned his gaze back to the colorful coffee table.

  “This is wrong, all this bickering over such a tragic event. I don’t want to see us fighting. I’ve come too far.” He rested his hand on Carly’s leg. “We’ve come so far. Alex, you’ve got to know that Carly and I have bonded like I’ve never bonded with another woman. And I realize it’s at least partially due to what we’ve both suffered through. Addiction is debilitating and depressing. And to find someone who’s willing to help prop you up when you most need it, who understands that unbelievable urge to want the very thing you shouldn’t have, is priceless. You should know that we never completely lose the desire to escape the world around us; we either just cover it up real well, or we have moments where we forget about it. Anyway, I just wanted you to know what Carly means to me.”

  “And Donny means the same to me.”

  Again with the ‘Donny’? Before this trip, the only time I recalled hearing that name was when one of Dad’s old Coast Guard buddies dropped by our house in Virginia, before Mom died.

  Carly thumbed an escaping tear as she looked at my dad.

  “I don’t mean to upset you. I admire your recovery,” I said to Dad, then I shifted to Carly. “Both of you. It’s great to see.”

  “Good to hear, Alex. I thought there was goodness in you,” she said.

  “But…” Their approving smiles quickly evaporated. “Carly, you still haven’t said a word about the video. I’m only here because I’m concerned. If you are the focus of a gang of thugs, we need to get you into protective custody. And we need to understand why. I don’t want to see anything happen to you, but there are others who could be in danger—Dad, the kids, my friends, and yes, even Archie.”

  Carly curled her bottom lip and flexed her jaw. “Being an employee of the FBI doesn’t give you some type of super power to read people’s minds or, for that matter, to dictate how we run our lives. I’ll say this just once: I am not affiliated with any type of drug gang or cartel. Yes, I used drugs for a period of my life. They destroyed every relationship I ever had. I lost forty pounds, couldn’t keep food down, my organs were starting to shut down. It was agonizing. I literally wondered if I was going to die in my sleep. I’ve been to hell and back, sister, and there’s no way I’m ever going back.”

  I took in a breath, and wondered if there was any degree of truth to what she was saying. Not about her addiction and subsequent recovery, but her claim to having no connection to the drug world. She looked healthy enough. She had decent skin tone and only a few wrinkles, so maybe she had led a clean, sober existence recently. Dad could have been at least partially responsible for that—and maybe she had helped him, too, as he’d indicated. But I kept going back to thinking why she was purposely trying to deflect the focus of the conversation. And, more to the point, why were both she and Dad acting like they had just walked outside and pretended the sun didn’t exist? That was the equivalent of denying that the gang member was targeting Carly. Unless there was the off chance, the one-percent chance, that my perspective of the situation was skewed somehow.

  “Okay,” was all I could think of saying. I lifted to my feet. “I need to get back to the kids.” I grabbed my purse and started walking to the door. Still simmering from our discussion, blood flooded my veins so fast my balance felt off. As I r
eached the entrance to the dining room, I had to put a hand on the wall to steady myself for a moment.

  Is that a gun?

  I rubbed my eyes just as Dad gently put his hand on my shoulder. “Dear, I know this whole episode has been upsetting for you. It has been for us too.”

  He guided me to the door, and I resisted the urge to flip my head around to verify what I’d just seen: a 9mm pistol resting on the dining room table.

  Why would Dad have his gun out?

  “Yeah,” I said from the door, the wall now cutting off my view into the dining room.

  Again, before I could get my mental bearings and understand fact versus fiction, what I should push versus what I should let go, Dad took me into his arms and hugged me. I couldn’t remember the last time he had done that. And I didn’t think that was because I’d suffered from amnesia a few months back.

  “Families aren’t always going to see the world the same way,” Dad said, gripping my shoulders while looking into my eyes. It was a déjà vu moment, harking back to my days as a teen. The words were different, but it seemed like he was talking down to me, relegating me to a status that wasn’t on par with him or his logical assessment of the big, bad world.

  “Okay.”

  “But just know that I forgive you, Alex. We’ll put this behind us and move on. We’re blood, always will be. And when you’re blood, you don’t ever turn your back on those you love. It’s as constant as the waves crashing against the shoreline.”

  He pulled me closer for another quick hug, and my eyes caught a glimpse of Carly standing in the living room. She had her hand near her mouth, but I could swear she was wearing a smirk visible from the moon. The second I steadied my sights, Dad let me go, and I lifted my eyes to his.

  A moment later I was outside, my purse swaying at my side, the salty, thick air brushing my hair in my face. I didn’t bother corralling the loose strands. I just walked slowly to my car, taking in deep breaths, hoping my tangled mind would soon unwind and allow me to see the truth through the fog of…manipulation. That was how I felt. I’d been manipulated by my own father.

  And as I let it resonate, it didn’t surprise me one single bit.