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

by Jon F. Merz

Simbik cocked one of his bushy eyebrows. "Great job you got, Lawson. If I wasn’t so happy being a doorman here, rejecting little kids with bogus IDs and all, I might threaten to come aboard."

  "What can I tell you – cosmetic surgery makes my life a bitch. No one’s got a recent photo of him."

  He nodded. "Figures." He adjusted the radio earpiece he wore. "So, how you gonna do it?"

  "He’s got a certain style. I’ll watch for it."

  "Hey, man, Landsdowne’s a short street, but it’s got eight clubs, thousands of people, and only four hours to check them all out. You ain’t got that many eyes, my friend."

  "Simbik, I’m a professional. I use cunning, experience, and a lot of good detailed information."

  His left eyebrow arched higher on his forehead.

  I shrugged. "All right, so you’re the only friend I’ve got down here. Your place is as good as any to start with, y’know?"

  "Yeah." Simbik lit an unfiltered cigarette and took a long drag, expelling a thin stream of smoke into the night air. "Always knew my number would come up someday."

  "Mind if I check it out?"

  "Hey, bana gore hava hos."

  "Thanks." I started inside but Simbik stopped me.

  "Lawson."

  I looked at him.

  He blew more smoke into the night air. "You sure he’ll be inside?"

  "Not really."

  "You find him in there, what happens?"

  "I kill him."

  He regarded me for a moment. "Can you whack him quietly? I got a job here and all."

  "Simbik, if I find this guy in your club, I’ll kill him any damned way I can. You’ll thank me for it a million times and then buy me all

  the Bombay Sapphire I can drink."

  "He’s that bad, huh?"

  "No." I shook my head. "He’s even worse." I ducked under the blue velvet curtain and vanished into the shadowy recesses of the club.

  Into the unknown.

  Chapter Two

  Inside, I felt the pulsing rhythm of amplified dance music rocket into my ear drums. Blue lasers and flashing lights pierced the darkness before being swallowed up again by the shadows. The dark kept me safe. If Cosgrove caught sight of me, he’d either try to escape or kill me.

  Not knowing what Cosgrove looked like put me at a real disadvantage. Spend the kind of money Cosgrove had and you could put a new face on an elephant, call it a mouse, and no one would know any better.

  Christ, he could look like anybody now.

  Fortunately, the only thing more demanding than his bloodlust was Cosgrove’s vanity. Any changes to his appearance would have to make him look more attractive. He’d be a good-looking guy, probably with a couple of women around him. Cosgrove loved flaunting himself.

  He hadn’t always been like that. Time was, Cosgrove’s looks ranked right down there with the kind of road rash you’d find at a motorcycle accident scene. But a huge trust fund and family money enabled him to get the wrongs righted and come out looking like some GQ model, albeit a deranged one.

  By comparison, my short bristly permanently graying hair poked straight out of my scalp at odd angles, accentuating my large forehead and reasonably strong jawline that hadn’t yet succumbed to age. McKinley once called me a walking military recruitment poster.

  Maybe I could use some time in Sweden.

  I stopped at the first bar, leaned into the Naugahyde padding and ordered a Bombay Sapphire with tonic from a guy with far too much metal lancing his skin. I slid a ten dollar bill on the counter then turned to sip the drink and watch the crowd.

  In Simbik’s club there was only one VIP area. It overlooked the dance floor from an upper balcony wrapped in maroon padded couches. I felt sure Cosgrove would be sitting up there surveying potential victims like he was on some kind of sick shopping spree.

  "Is that a gin and tonic?"

  Brunette. Too much makeup. In my peripheral vision I could see her holding her drink up next to mine in some kind of vain attempt at playing Match Game. "Good choice," she said.

  I took another sip and continued watching the floor. "What kind of gin did you order?"

  The look on her face told me she had no idea. "Try Bombay

  Sapphire next time," I said and moved into the crowd. That

  would count as my contribution to human society tonight. A little education for the masses on what constituted a damned fine drink. And if I took Cosgrove out, that’d be my angel’s wings for sure. I might just make this a banner night.

  I took the steps to the upper balcony slowly, using the black metal rail to cover my approach. Cosgrove would be sitting near an exit. A pompous bastard maybe, but he wasn’t entirely stupid.

  Unfortunately, he knew that I always worked alone. The price of being the best at what I do.

  Sometimes being good really sucked.

  A club security guard barred my way; apparently I wasn’t wearing this season’s appropriate Gucci fashion apparel. I smiled. "Simbik sent me."

  He nodded and let me pass.

  At the top of the stairs, I paused, scanned the recessed shadows for any signs that Cosgrove might be there. Even with the onslaught of steady musical rampage, I could hear the juicy sounds of several people swapping spit and Southern Hemisphere body fluids. So much for safe sex. It was only a matter of time before humans wiped themselves out. Even with AIDS killing thousands of people, they still wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t even care but continued epidemic levels of a killer disease threatened the food chain. And that meant my existence might even come into question.

  I zeroed in on the recessed circular couch to my right. A man being wooed by two women and a possible threesome reclined against the back wall. Lucky bastard.

  I walked over, standing in front of him. He was about six-one and weighed maybe two hundred pounds. That was about right for Cosgrove. And it gave him about a twenty pound advantage over yours truly.

  I’m usually much more subtle. I wouldn’t normally dream of making an approach this way. Unfortunately, McKinley sending me out without even a vague idea of what Cosgrove looked like, complicated things to the point where subtlety lost out to a frontal attack.

  I cleared my throat.

  Whoever he was, he wasn’t happy with my sudden appearance.

  "What the fuck do you want?"

  I took a sip of my drink, felt the delicate flavoring of juniper and licorice as it coursed down my throat. I smiled.

  "Mav kola an gurok."

  It was a simple enough greeting in the old language. I wasn’t quite sure what I hoped to gain by saying it. Maybe lull Cosgrove into replying which would have been a dead giveaway.

  I didn’t get my wish.

  "Fucking immigrants," said the man in front of me. He stood and tried to shove me away. I pivoted, used his momentum and sent him sprawling down the stairs with me close on his heels.

  I caught up with him just as he came to rest at the base of the steps. I tugged down the collar on his shirt and examined the base of his clavicle for the birthmark that would identify him as Cosgrove. The birthmark was the one guarantee I had that Cosgrove could never erase. Even with all the Swedish doctors working on it. It branded us all, the mark of my race. A tattoo of sorts that was as much a means of identification as it was a stigmata.

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  I looked up in time to see three bouncers closing in one me. One of them grabbed me around the upper right arm and another went for the same grip on my left. But they hadn’t moved in unison, giving me valuable seconds to elbow the one on my right and drive him off. He floundered but came right back. This time I drove my elbow into his diaphragm and he backed off. But there were two more.

  The second one flew in for a tackle around my waist and I dropped both elbows on to the top of his back, driving him down into my bent knees. He slid off, out cold.

  The third one hesitated, having seen me deal with his two much bigger co-workers with apparent ease. Instead of trying to deal with me alone,
he reached for his radio.

  Time to go.

  I sprinted for the fire exit near the back of the club on the ground floor. As I ran, one of the patrons raised his champagne flute in my direction. A shock of brown hair topping a set of piercing blue eyes. Prominent cheekbones narrowing to a fine nib at the chin. He smiled in the darkness, catching one of the blue lasers across his gleaming perfectly capped teeth. And four elongated incisors.

  Cosgrove.

  I stopped short – already reaching for my pistol – but at that moment I caught another flying tackle around the waist that sent both me and my attacker into the alleyway behind the club, toppling over trash cans, beer bottles and garbage. Amid the smell of dank urine and week-old garbage, I knew instantly who had rushed me out of the club.

  "Simbik!"

  He got to his feet. "Allah karetsin, Lawson! You trying to get me fired? People saw us talking, man. You can’t pull this kind of shit here. Even for you, I gotta draw the line."

  I brushed myself off. "I would have handled it much quieter if the big lug upstairs hadn’t tried to prove himself."

  "Your mistake, your problem," said Simbik. "Aren’t you supposed to be a professional, man? Shit, I know fourteen year olds who woulda pulled a hit cleaner than that."

  "I told you I didn’t know what my mark looked like. I had to be sure."

  "So you go hassling everyone else? Forget about it, man. You can do better than that."

  I started for the door. "All right, all right, it won’t happen again-"

  Simbik’s hand on my chest stopped me. "Hold it, paisan."

  "What’s the problem?" I pulled his hand off of me.

  "You know I can’t let you back in there."

  "You have to. Cosgrove’s in there."

  "You mean the guy you’re after?"

  "Yeah."

  Simbik frowned. "If he’s in there, why’d you go after the other guy?"

  "I didn’t know he was in there at that point. I just saw him as you graciously escorted me out."

  "It’s dark in there, man. Maybe you just thought it was him. The shadows and lighting can really mess with your vision. Trust me. I go home with a headache at least twice a week."

  "I saw him. You have to believe me."

  Simbik sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I do." He frowned. "But I can’t let you back in. I’m sorry."

  I knew it was no good arguing. If history taught me anything, it was that Turks stuck to their decisions. Especially Turks named Simbik. I wasn’t getting back inside.

  "Okay, but watch that guy. He’s the one by the door at the exit here. He’s dangerous."

  "Yeah, I heard you the first time." Simbik turned back to the club door. "Be good Lawson."

  I watched him knock on the door and then disappear into the club. Back into the pulsating darkness. And the danger within.

  Danger-Close

  Copyright © 2004 Jon F. Merz

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.