Danger-Close: A Jake Thunder Adventure (The Jake Thunder Adventures Book 1)

by Jon F. Merz

I nodded and turned the chair around, pointing it back down Broadway. "I’ll be in touch tomorrow." I pointed to his brownstone. "I think you’ve got a phone call to make."

  Chapter Seven

  The sunny day wasn’t the only bright spot in my life the next day. As I rolled off the elevator, I found Vanessa Patterson waiting for me outside the office door decked out in a tight cream designer dress that stopped just short of her knees and causing me a heart attack. She topped off the look with black heels that caressed her feet the way I would have loved to caress her thighs. She caught me looking her up and down but didn’t seem to mind so much.

  "You approve?"

  "Definitely." I unlocked the office and waited until she entered to follow her in.

  "And I thought there were no gentlemen left in this world."

  Chivalry be damned. I just wanted a better view of her butt. "Yeah, well, there are a few of us left battling extinction. What can I do for you?"

  "You could tell me you’ve managed to find my sister’s killers. But I suppose that it’s a bit too early to be so hopeful?"

  "Not really."

  "You found them?"

  "Maybe." I pointed to the coffee machine. "You want a cup?"

  She shook her head. "Tell me about it."

  I plugged in the coffee machine for Brenda, the woman I hired to type up invoices and keep tab on the books. I haven’t got a mind for business at all. If it was up to me, I’d be living on Skid Row. But Brenda was top-notch and I paid her well. So I plugged the coffee machine in for her despite the fact that I loathed the stuff.

  "There’s not much to tell…yet."

  "But you’ve got a lead."

  "Sure."

  "What kind of lead is it?"

  "How many kinds are there?" I shrugged. "It’s a lead. And it’s hopefully leading me to another lead that will enable me to answer all your questions."

  "Have you found out anything that you can tell me?"

  Sure. I could tell her I dreamed about her last night and woke up with the worst case of crotch ache I’d had in years. Somehow I didn’t think that was what she wanted to hear.

  "Your sister, it appears, died being a good person."

  "What’s that mean?"

  "Put simply, it means she wasn’t messed up on drugs like the police department thought."

  "I knew it."

  "You didn’t seem so sure the other day."

  She nodded. "I thought perhaps I was being too optimistic about my sister. Loneliness can do incredible damage to a person’s psyche. I couldn’t be completely sure that she hadn’t fallen from grace."

  "What makes you such an expert on loneliness?"

  "I’ve experienced my share of it."

  "Have you? A woman as beautiful as you are, married, comes from money…and you’re lonely?"

  "Mr. Thunder-"

  "It's Jake. Remember?"

  "Very well. Jake, all of those things don’t give me some type of immunity to the pains of the heart. There have been many times when I was consumed with the thought of dying alone."

  I sat there watching her. After a few seconds, I cleared my throat. "You don’t love your husband very much, do you Vanessa?"

  She blanched. "What-"

  "Come off it. You can’t sit there and tell me he makes your nerves fire off when you think about him. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes. The way you carry yourself, the way you think you can conceal any trace of emotion. Well, maybe you can carry that off with other people. But not me. I’ve seen your type before. I’ve known the secrets you hide. And right now, my gut is telling me you’d jump ship if you thought you could find a better man."

  She exhaled in a smooth rush. "Perhaps I should go."

  "Maybe. But I don’t think you will."

  "All right. But let’s turn to the subject of my sister if we could."

  "Sure. We can revisit that other subject another time."

  Vanessa looked relieved. I’d obviously hit a nerve, which made me feel pretty good. Hell, it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.

  "You said my sister died a good person. Please explain yourself a little further."

  "From what I’ve been able to piece together, your sister got mixed up with a guy who works for an organized crime syndicate."

  "You mean something like the Mafia?"

  I nodded. "But not the Italians."

  "What other kind of Mafia is there?"

  "As many kinds as you could never want to find. Irish, Chinese, Vietnamese, Jewish, you name it."

  "And which one did my sister become involved with?"

  "Unfortunately…one of the worst ones. The Russians."

  "There’s such a thing as a worst kind?"

  "Believe it. The Russians are new to this part of the country, but they’ve managed to insinuate themselves everywhere else. Your sister hooked up with this Don Woolery character and he cued her in on what he did for the Russians. She tried to get him to stop. She threatened to go to the cops."

  "You mean this Don Woolery killed her?"

  Suddenly Vanessa’s eyes didn’t look so alluring. In fact, they’d narrowed to the point where she resembled a viper more than a sexy woman.

  "No. He wasn’t the trigger man. Guy named Darmov had one of his goons do it over by the reservoir."

  "Darmov?"

  "Yeah."

  "And what is it that the Russians are doing that so disturbed my sister?"

  "Baby kidnapping."

  Vanessa frowned. "You’re not serious."

  "I’m absolutely serious. They arranged for babies to be kidnapped out of hospitals or nurseries and they were then being sold on the black market to infertile couples all over the world. Don Woolery finds buyers here in the states for Darmov who then arranges the transfer."

  "Disgusting."

  I nodded. "Your sister seemed to think so. She died for it, Vanessa."

  "Don Woolery is party to the guilt then."

  "Well, he’s not an angel, that’s for sure. But I think I might just be able to use him to get to Darmov."

  "How so?"

  "He’s arranging a meet for me. An introduction. I’ll go in posing as a buyer and then have a heart-to-heart with this Darmov guy."

  "That’s not a part of what we agreed upon."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Vanessa leaned forward. "You were simply supposed to find out who killed my sister. I told you I would then take over and administer the necessary justice."

  "Hold on a sec, Vanessa. You can’t go off on some vigilante bent trying to rid the world of the bad guys."

  "Why not? Those who killed my sister must be punished."

  "Yeah, well, that’s what the cops are for."

  "Jake. I’m not naive enough to believe for one second that someone who is apparently as powerful as this Darmov character would seem to be, would spend any time in jail. At best, he’d get his sentence plea bargained down to almost nothing. At worst, he’d simply be deported only to return another time under a new name and identity. Then he’d be free to set up his services again. And possibly kill more people. I cannot allow that possibility to exist."

  All of a sudden my morning wasn’t looking so sun-shiny. "You’ve got a point, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean you can go kill these guys. You’re out of your league."

  "I wouldn’t be holding the gun."

  "So what, you’ll hire some professional hitters? What guarantee do you have they’ll do the job properly?"

  "Their word, their reputation."

  I shook my head "Still risky."

  "You have a better idea?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. I do."

  "I’m all ears."

  Actually, she was all legs, but what the hell. I looked deep into her gleaming eyes, smiled, took a breath and then exhaled.

  "I’ll kill them."

  Chapter Eight

  For the second time that morning, I’d apparently caught Vanessa off guard. She simply sat there for a minute, absorbing w
hat I’d said. Then she frowned.

  "You said a few days back that you weren’t in the business of revenge."

  "Yeah. I’m not."

  "But surely this falls into that realm?"

  "Not really. I think I might be able to place this under what I call community service. I’m real big on that."

  "You’re real big on killing?"

  "No, of course not. But ridding the world of some garbage is a calling I take to every once in a while."

  She watched me for another ten seconds, apparently trying to figure out if I was conning her or not. I stared back at her.

  "How much?" She asked finally.

  "Additional fifty thousand for the two of them."

  "For Don Woolery and this man Darmov?"

  "Yes."

  "What about the man who did the actual killing?"

  "I’ll throw him in free of charge."

  "That's truly magnanimous of you to do so."

  "Yeah, well, I’m like that sometimes."

  She licked her lips and I caught my breath. "I suppose it would be silly of me to write you out a check for that service."

  "Yeah, that might look a bit odd."

  "SoÉhow do we do it?"

  "Let me run some things down first. If it turns out the scene looks good, I’ll give you a numbered bank account in the Cayman Islands. You’ll deposit half the money up front. The other half on completion of the job."

  "Have you done this before?"

  "What – killed people?"

  "Yes."

  I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I have."

  "And have you used the Cayman Islands before?"

  "I used to use the Swiss but they’ve been infiltrated by British Intelligence. A few years back they got their hands on all the account holders names. Caymans are still secure."

  "How do you know so much about this type of activity?"

  "My reputation didn’t clue you in?"

  "All I heard was that you were very good at your job."

  "Yeah, well, I’ve got a background in special operations. I spent some years in the Air Force and worked in intelligence as well. You learn a lot in a very short time. Or you die."

  "You didn’t die."

  "No. But I got two bum legs for my trouble."

  "Fortunately for me they don’t seem to have dulled your wits."

  "No."

  She sighed. "All right, Jake. It’s a deal, as they say. You’ll let me know how you progress?"

  "I'll give you a call tonight some time. That okay?"

  "Fine." She stood. "I have to get going."

  I watched her walk out, closing the door behind her. I spun toward the window and looked into the sun until it hurt my eyes. Then I spun back around and reached for the phone.

  McCloskey answered on the sixth ring.

  "You," I said when he answered, "are truly a slow-as-molasses receptionist."

  "Shoulda figured it’d be your worthless ass, Thunder. Shoulda let the damned phone ring."

  "That wouldn’t be very customer service oriented of you now would it?"

  "Nah. What’s up?"

  "How about lunch?"

  "Should I ask why you can’t tell me whatever you’re gonna tell me over the phone?"

  "You should tell me that lunch will be a good time to get together and talk."

  "Yeah, yeah. All right. Twelve-thirty. I’ll meet you at Scampi’s place."

  I hung up and looked at the clock. Two hours.

  *** *** ***

  I had no intention of wasting Darmov and Woolery if I could help it. I’d told Vanessa I would simply because I’ve seen the cold look of murder enough times to recognize that if I hadn’t volunteered, Woolery would have been dead before the sun got high overhead. And that would mean Darmov might get away if he caught wind of the hit.

  This way, I had some more time to try to put the situation right. With McCloskey’s help, I just might be able to pull it off.

  Hopefully.

  Fred Scampi runs a great pizza and sub shop down on Centre Street a block from my office. It’s also wheelchair accessible, which wins him points in my book. Add to that the fact that the food is good and relatively cheap and it’s a winner hands down.

  I rolled in at twelve-thirty-five and found McCloskey down back nursing a large diet coke and two slices of pepperoni pizza. I ordered my slices plain and then nodded at McCloskey.

  "You’re early."

  "Yeah." He swallowed. "Lunch time crowd in here gets busy. Didn’t want to waste time standing in line." He took a swig of soda and wiped his mouth. "So. What gives?"

  "That Patterson case."

  "Yeah?"

  "Russian Mafiya all right. Guy named Darmov, apparently."

  McCloskey whistled. "Got yourself a hot one there, pal."

  "You don’t know the half of it."

  "You gonna tell me?"

  I filled him in on Vanessa’s wish list and watched as a dollop of tomato sauce found its way down to McCloskey’s chin. When I finished, he wiped his mouth.

  "Uh, I know I don’t have to tell you I could drag her downtown right now for conspiring to murder."

  "Yeah, I know it. But I got some breathing room."

  "By volunteering to do the hit yourself? I don’t know how smart that was, brother. You could get in deep doo-doo if it ever came to light."

  "Well, it won’t."

  He nodded. "Yeah, don’t worry about it. But shit, did you have to tell her you would?"

  "Yep. If I hadn’t, she’d already be moving on the information I gave her."

  McCloskey nodded, then broke into a toothy grin. "You really tell her you worked in intelligence?"

  "Yeah."

  "And she bought it?"

  "Hey, I can be convincing when I have to be."

  "Reading too many fucking spy novels, you are. Shit, good thing I wasn’t there. I woulda lost it."

  "Thanks for the support." I bit into my slice. "You gonna help me with this thing or what?"

  "Oh yeah, sure. Wouldn’t miss the chance to stick it to the Feds that we bagged an Ivan. They’ve been hounding us for years about our inability to infiltrate organized crime."

  "They haven’t exactly been sterling examples of that ability either."

  "Tell me something I don’t know. This is a great opportunity."

  "Well, hopefully it will be. If it goes sour, I’ll need some help really fast and in a bad way."

  "I can get a SWAT team if you want."

  "Let me see how my boy is doing at setting up the meet and I’ll let you know."

  "You do that." McCloskey finished his diet coke and wiped his mouth one more time. Then he looked at me and smiled. "You as a hired assassin…who woulda thunk it?"

  "You should have known me a few years before we met," I said. "Then the notion might not seem so alien."

  "Yeah?"

  I bit into a fresh slice of pizza, trying my best to push back the memories. "Yeah."

  Chapter Nine

  I called Don Woolery’s cell phone after lunch and got his voice mail. Somehow I didn’t think leaving a message asking about how the meet set-up was going would be too wise. You never knew how secure telephone systems were. And I was betting this guy Darmov wasn’t the dullest knife in the drawer. If he had any doubts about Woolery, odds were good he’d take precautions to see what his employees were up to.

  Add to that the fact that many of the Russian Mafiya goons were either ex-intelligence officers from the KGB or GRU or ex-special forces types out off the old Spetznaz Alpha Teams and it was clear I’d be walking a very thin tight rope.

  I’d been back at the office for another ten minutes when Brenda patched a call in from her desk.

  "Who is it?"

  "I think it’s your pal McCloskey."

  "You think?"

  "He said it was urgent."

  "I just saw him."

  "I didn’t ask why he was calling."

  I picked up the phone. "Whatsa matter? Pizza not sit right?"r />
  "I just got a call I figured you might be interested in."

  "Go ahead."

  "Seems someone got a little anxious with Don Woolery."

  "Shit-"

  "Yeah, he’s dead. Two slugs. Execution style from what I hear. I’m getting ready to take a ride out there to do a prelim on the crime scene. You want to come along?"

  "Can you pick me up"

  "Ten minutes."

  I hung up and paused. If Vanessa had gone ahead and ordered Woolery’s death even after our arrangement, that would definitely complicate matters. It would mean for one thing that getting closer to Darmov would be even tougher than if I’d had an intro from Woolery.

  Then again, if Vanessa hadn’t ordered the hit, that meant that Darmov might have gotten wind of Woolery’s treachery and simply taken him out of the equation.

  Either way, I was screwed.

  I punched the intercom. "Brenda, I’m going out for a little while."

  "I figured. Should I expect any phone calls from people?"

  "There might be one from a Vanessa Patterson. If she calls, could you patch her through to my cell?"

  "Not a problem."

  I rolled out and down to the elevator. By the time I got downstairs, McCloskey had a transport waiting. He grinned as I came through the door.

  "You know I’ve always wanted to throw your ass in the back of one of these things."

  "Yeah, us wheelchair people are the biggest source of crime this town’s got."

  He helped me in and then shut the door before hopping into the driver’s seat. He looked back through the grill at me. "They pulled him out of the harbor a half hour ago."

  "ME down there yet?"

  "Should be en route."

  "Good. At least we’ll be able to get her opinion undiluted."

  "Cute pun." McCloskey tapped the siren and cars began to part for us to get through.

  I shook my head. "Amazing. Even with the horns and whistles going, some of these people still take their time moving. Ridiculous."

  It took us just over twenty minutes to thread our way through the massive construction associated with the Big Dig, Boston’s continuing corruption scandal disguised as an attempt to ease commuter travel woes, and work our way past the Seaport Hotel and down to Black Falcon Terminal.

  I saw the meat wagon parked close to one dock ramp and McCloskey slowed the van to a crawl as an officer directed him to park it nearby.