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

by Jon F. Merz

  But danger can be managed. And it doesn’t have to be confronted all at once. Doing so would be suicidal. And I wasn’t a big fan of suicide, especially when I needed to be with Vanessa again.

  So, sitting alone on my numb tuckus I began to formulate a plan that would hopefully keep me alive. And who knew, it might actually work.

  In fact, maybe I could distract Darmov from any suspicion he might have about me by playing up the mystery sniper. The sniper might actually have solidified my status in Darmov’s organization some. After all, most good people don’t have to worry about being shot at by a sniper. Darmov must have been wondering what I’d done in my past that would warrant the attempted hit.

  And I was betting he’d be pulling a lot of strings to try and find out.

  That worked in my favor.

  And to deal with the sniper, I could vary my routine and utilize Darmov’s offer of protection along with the police presence to hopefully make things troublesome enough to impede the shooter.

  Instead of worrying about two levels of danger, I’d play them off against one another. Hell, they might destroy each other in the process. That wouldn’t be too bad.

  I breathed deep, inhaling a bellyful of oxygen deep down into my soul and switched gears, focusing on sending what Dr. Poon liked to call healing energy to my useless legs. I called it mostly a waste of time, but what the hell, I had nothing else to do except try.

  I’d read enough accounts on the importance of the psychological in determining whether you were able to heal or not. And considering how badly I wanted to walk again, I was willing to try just about anything.

  So, I breathed.

  I imagined a kind of white light flooding my body, stimulating the numb nerve endings in my lower back and legs. I imagined them waking up, twitching, moving, pulling and pushing. Anything that would resemble movement.

  Sometimes when I did this exercise, I would almost feel as though it was starting to work. Sometimes I wondered if my legs were moving. And I’d crack an eye open and look down, hoping against hope that one of my legs would be akimbo, evidence that it had moved.

  But every time it would be in the exact same position it had been when I started. It was tough fighting back the depression. It was tough looking at my useless limbs every morning and every night.

  But I kept it up.

  I kept going.

  Dr. Poon insisted he’d seen the effects of what could be accomplished if the mind of the person afflicted was strong enough to withstand the constant frustration. And if they had the time and patience required to make the healing work.

  I'm not a patient man. But I'm trying.

  I grinned. I used to be a rough-and-tumble special ops guy. I used to scorn the new age philosophy in favor of western medicine. If it hadn’t been proven by science, I didn’t want any part of it.

  Even after my experience in the Badlands, I considered my spirituality a part of my Indian heritage. I was proud to be Indian but I never used to let the laws of nature flow into my everyday life.

  Since being shot, however, I’d undergone a change in attitude. To keep myself upbeat and able to function in life, I needed the reassurance, however slight it might be, that new age metaphysical thought gave me.

  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t about to cut out meat and dairy products and embrace some bizarre "don’t-tread-on-any-living-thing" cultish thought pattern that seemed out of place with the universe as I knew it. I was one proud meat eater and I was going to stay that way.

  But I could borrow from new age thought and use what worked, discarding what didn’t. And that’s what I did.

  The CD ended about the same time I started dozing off. I dragged myself into the adjoining bedroom, made it onto the mattress and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The early morning sun filtering in through my supposedly room-darkening blinds did little to elevate my mood. I stole a quick glance outside. The police cruiser with two cops inside still sat parked outside my place.

  I threw myself into my early morning workout routine. Leg lifts are tough to do when you can't move Ôem anyway, so nowadays I mostly concentrate on crunches. I can still do decline pushups though. I usually leave my bum legs on the bed, dip my upper torso out and aim it down at the floor. After about a hundred, I'm pretty winded.

  My music of choice this morning was a little old school rap by way of Doug E. Fresh, Ice-T, and Grand Master Flash. Say what you want, but the new rap songs got nothing on the tight lyrics and booming bass lines of the old days.

  After thirty minutes of intense pulse-pounding calisthenics, I felt a bit better. I eased into the shower, using a specially designed seat of sorts and let the warm water rinse off the sweat. I ran a razor over my face, shaving by feel only Ð a habit I'd acquired back in basic training. You saved a lot more time shaving in the shower rather than waiting for a sink to free up. And if that meant ducking the rage of a drill instructor, I was all for it.

  Downstairs I got my usual breakfast of two egg whites, American cheese, and wheat toast. I downed a hefty glass of orange juice and felt even better.

  Sniper or no sniper, today would be a good day.

  As I was finishing brushing my teeth, my doorbell rang. I answered it with the USP tucked by my side.

  A tall black cop in a uniform stood in the front hall.

  "Hi."

  He grinned down at me. "I haven't heard Doug E. Fresh in years."

  I nodded. "The good ones are all gone nowadays."

  "Damn shame." He glanced around. "You need a hand getting down to the office? We were told to make sure you get down there in one piece."

  "And after that?"

  He cocked an eyebrow. "I think that artillery at your side oughta help keep the bad guys away."

  "You'd think," I said. "Truth is this old thing doesn't do much more than annoy Ôem."

  He chuckled. "Least Ôtil you plug Ôem full of holes." He gestured outside. We'll be waiting."

  "You guys got a van?"

  "Yeah."

  "Be out in five."

  Back inside I strapped the USP underneath my chair seat in a specially designed holster I sometimes use. The .380 went onto my left arm, covered by long sleeves to keep it out of sight. I'd practiced drawing it over and over again until I could make it appear in the blink of an eye.

  Mornings on Centre Street look pretty much like any other neighborhood in Boston. Sidewalks bustle with early commuters, merchants and kids on the way to school. By and large, it's tough to get anyone to take notice of you.

  Arriving at work by police transport van, however, definitely woke some people up.

  I said thanks to the cops and rode up to my office. Brenda was already there.

  "You look like hell."

  She flipped me the bird. I love the respect she gives me. "I was out late last night drinking your attempted murder out of my mind."

  "It work?"

  "Nope."

  "Sucks to be you."

  "That," she said rubbing her head, "is the truth."

  "You haven't pissed anyone off in recent days have you?"

  She frowned. "Jake, don't try to pin that shit on me. You're the one who drives around this city chalking up enemies the way most people accumulate frequent flier miles."

  "Brenda, I love it when you exaggerate."

  "Exaggerate my ass. You know that round was meant for you."

  "Yeah." I pointed at my office. "I'll be in here if you need me."

  "Oh goody."

  Inside, I dialed Ned Thompson's number. He answered on the first ring. After I told him who was calling he breathed a sigh of relief. "I was afraid I wouldn't hear from you again."

  "Sorry about that. I had a bit of a business emergency come up yesterday."

  "Trouble?"

  "Not at all." Somehow, telling him there was a bullet embedded in my wall didn't seem professional. "Have you discussed the options with your wife?"

 
"Yes. We're ready to do business."

  "Excellent. I'll contact you this afternoon and let you know when we can discuss monetary arrangements."

  I hung up and leaned back in my chair. The prospect of setting Thompson up for a fall did not appeal to me. Not even vaguely. He seemed like a good guy, regardless of the fact that he was ready to step over the line. He and his wife wanted to be parents. They seemed like good folks.

  Just folks dealt a cruel hand by Mother Nature, God, or what have you. And given the fact that so many scumbags don't even appreciate the fact that they have children made Thompson's case even more troubling.

  I punched the intercom. "Brenda. Can you do a little research for me?"

  "As long as it doesn't involve talking to people."

  "Anyone?"

  "Well, maybe just you."

  "Nice of you to say so." I told her what I wanted and finished just in time to grab the phone when it rang.

  "Thunder."

  "Doug E. Fresh?"

  "Don't tell me you're not down with old school."

  McCloskey sighed. "You're making friends all over the force, you know that?"

  "Jealous?"

  "Nah, they don't know you for shit yet. I do. Honeymoon'll be over before you know it, then you'll come crawling back to me."

  "You're a hopeless romantic. Anyone ever tell you that?"

  "Wife did once. That was before she learned what being a cop's wife meant."

  "Take her some roses."

  "Tried. She shoved them into the Cuisinart the last time."

  "Ouch."

  "Enough stories of my marital bliss. I got other reasons for calling you."

  "Like what kind of reasons?"

  "5.56mm reasons."

  "You talked to the ballistics boys?"

  "Uh huh. Round they dug out of your wall was most likely fired from an M-16."

  "Damn."

  "Yep."

  M-16s and AK47s are two of the most common assault rifles in the world. I'd secretly hoped, and I think McCloskey was hoping too, that the round would be a bit different. Maybe a 7.65mm like the kind a Russian Dragunov sniper rifle fires. Something like that could well have narrowed the field of possible suspects down.

  Could have.

  An M-16 did nothing to narrow the field. In all likelihood, it exploded it the opposite way.

  "No shell casings retrieved across the street?"

  "Nope. Crime scene guys say they think they found where the shooter stood. Boot size probably ranged from a seven to a nine. Means a small to average-sized shooter."

  "And no witnesses."

  "Never are, pal. Never are."

  "Thanks for the ray of sunshine."

  "Think it was Darmov?"

  "No chance. He called me last night at home."

  "How'd he get your number?"

  "You said it yourself, the man has contacts and is not afraid to use Ôem."

  "Apparently."

  "He called to express his outrage."

  "Must have a good contact in the department."

  "He offered me protection."

  "How nice."

  "What I said."

  "You declined it, right?"

  "Of course."

  "Just making sure the dark side ain't winning you over."

  "It's not."

  "What about Vanessa?"

  "What about her?"

  "You talk to her?"

  "Yeah."

  "Lemme guess: she offered to come over and ease your pain and suffering."

  "Too true."

  "And youÉ?"

  "Declined."

  "Wow."

  "Yeah. Sometimes I even amaze myself."

  "You had good reason, of course."

  "Sure, it's not exactly safe around me, right now."

  "And there's also the possibility she might be the one who tried to take you out yesterday."

  "Knowing our Vanessa the way I do, I'd say the chances of that are pretty remote."

  "You'd say that just to protect a good source of nookie and you know it."

  "Okay. I might."

  "Just watch your ass, Jake. Things are liable to get a lot hairier before they get easier. And if you aren't sure Ð absolutely sure Ð of everyone in your life, you'd best watch out."

  "Thanks."

  "My pleasure. What about our little buying plan?"

  "I'll call Darmov. We'll set up the buy for later on tomorrow if we can."

  "Give me as much notice as you can. I'll want guys on the ground well in advance of any lead people he puts in place."

  "You going to call the Feds in on this?"

  "I don't see any reason to. Be nice to hand Darmov over to them, though. Be a real nice coup for the department."

  "Look good for you, too."

  "I might even get some celebratory time with my wife."

  "Imagine that."

  "Yeah," said McCloskey. "Anything's possible."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I called Darmov after lunch; about the same time my meatball sub was producing large pockets of gas in my stomach and forcing them out through my mouth in rolling belches.

  The leggy receptionist, whose picture still held a special place in my memory, told me Darmov was out of the office. I hung up and frowned.

  Where was he?

  I got the answer in less than a minute.

  I heard Brenda first saying, "Excuse me," and then louder followed by a "hey, asshole!" My Brenda, always such the customer service professional.

  Darmov entered my office flanked by Viktor and another bullet catcher.

  I smiled. "Mr. Darmov."

  He shook my hand and then sat down in one of the chairs I keep handy for clients. "Jake. How are you?"

  "Well as can be expected."

  He nodded and looked around my office. His eyes found the Rodney Dangerfield picture. He grinned. "Ah, Mr. I-Get-No-Respect. I'm a big fan, too."

  "Yeah?"

  He nodded. "His break-out performance in Caddyshack was a marvel."

  "I thought so, too."

  He steepled his fingers and looked at me. "How goes things?"

  "Just tried calling you."

  "Did you?"

  "Yep. Need to know the final financial arrangements for these two prospects I have for you."

  "Already?"

  "The one couple who wants a single child is ready to buy as soon as you can produce a child."

  "And the other?"

  "Also ready. Twins, like we discussed."

  Darmov smiled behind his fingers. "Excellent." He turned to Viktor. "You see, Vitya? I told you there was nothing to worry about."

  Viktor said nothing. He just kept looking at me with a silly kind of smile on his face. I knew he'd like nothing better than to use my head to wipe his ass the next time he enjoyed a Mexican burrito dinner.

  But he was too smart to let that show to Darmov.

  "Jake."

  I looked back at him. "Yeah?"

  "I'm worried about you."

  "I've been on the job a day or two, Mr. Darmov. Nothing to worry about here."

  "True you have only worked for me for two days, but most of my employees don't have snipers taking shots at them while they work."

  "Probably one of the many fans I've acquired over the years. Sometimes they come out of my past looking to even the score with me."

  Darmov nodded and sighed. He gestured to the second bullet catcher. "This is Gregor."

  I smiled at Gregor. Gregor must have also gone to the Viktor school of public relations because he fixed me with about the same kind of cold-blooded death stare smile that Viktor had. He and Viktor were probably drinking buddies.

  "Gregor," continued Darmov, "is going to stay close to you for the time being."

  I frowned. "Mr. Darmov, while I appreciate your concern, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

  "No?"

  "I've got cops all over me right now. I've got a police escort downstairs."

  D
armov nodded. "I know. We saw them. Two of them, yes? In the cruiser?"

  "Four actually," I said. "There are two more across the street at the bus stop. Plainclothes."

  Darmov frowned and stood. He walked to the window and poked through the blinds.

  I cleared my throat. "The one in the gray sweatpants with the headphones on. The woman with the baby stroller."

  Darmov let the blinds snap back and then sat back down. He looked at Viktor and Gregor and yapped off something in rapid-fire Russian. Both men looked sheepish.

  He turned back to me and smiled. "Those two other police officers should have been recognized prior to my coming here. I'm afraid my men have grown somewhat soft in their present occupations."

  I tried to smile but both Gregor and Viktor were now actively frowning at me. If Darmov left me alone with these two genetic misfits, I'd last about as long as a chastity belt at a nymphomaniac's convention.

  Darmov sighed. "Is there any chance your office has been bugged by the police?"

  "I don't think so." I opened the top drawer and pulled out the bug detector McCloskey had given me. "I sweep a few times each day."

  Darmov smiled. "Excellent."

  "I'd really like to say yes to your offer of Gregor here. I'm sure he wouldn't let anything happen to me while I was in his care."

  "If he did," said Darmov, "he would die."

  "But," I kept going, "having him around will make the police very curious about what I'm up to. That might bring down some very unwanted attention on your organization."

  "They have tried before," said Darmov.

  "Yes, but I would be the cause of the attention. And I do not want to bring such a thing down on you."

  Darmov nodded. "I understand."

  "Besides," I smiled. "As we spoke of last night, I'm not exactly alone."

  Darmov's eyes twinkled. "You have your friends with you?"

  "Both of them," I nodded. "All very anxious to get some work done."

  "All right then. But try to keep yourself out of harm's way."

  "What about the financial arrangements?"

  Darmov removed a slip of paper from the inside pocket of his suit coat. "Here are the details as well as the time. Please have your client there on time. I dislike tardiness. It shows a lack of discipline." He straightened his tie. "We must go now."