Vigilante Assassin: An Action Thriller (Jake Wolfe Book 2)

by Mark Nolan

  The security system chimed and Jake looked out the window. Paul was dragging a man out from behind a hedge. He punched the intruder in the face, then grabbed him by the back of the neck and force-marched him toward the front gate.

  Jake’s phone buzzed with a texted security alert and he went to a TV display screen and looked at a grid of security-cam views of the property. In one of the square images, he could see Paul manhandling the intruder. Jake tapped the screen and zoomed in. “It looks like Dick Arnold was trespassing, and Paul caught him doing it.”

  Terrell looked at the screen. “You want me to have a uniform place him under arrest? A visit to jail might teach him some manners.”

  “No, he’d just run a negative news story about cops. The chief wouldn’t like that.”

  Terrell scowled. “Let Cody loose on him. He’ll bite into Arnold’s butt like a pit bull on a pork chop.”

  Cody ran to the door, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Jake.

  “No, Cody. Maybe someday, but not right now,” Jake said.

  Cody returned to Jake’s side, looking disappointed.

  Jake texted the security cam video to Lauren. Paul’s doing a good job.

  He continued dumping out herbs and spices into bags but didn’t find the thumb drive in any of them, so he went to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door. He carried a collection of frozen items to the sink, closed the drain, and then ran the hot water to thaw everything out.

  Terrell held up a package of coffee and said, “Look at this expensive gourmet java that’s past the expiration date. Rich people are weird.”

  “Just pour it into a plastic bag. I know it breaks your heart, but I’ll ask Lauren to donate all the opened coffee to the food bank run by Father O’Leary.”

  Terrell started dumping out every kind of coffee. He picked up a package of what was said to be the world’s strongest blend—a black package with a skull and crossbones, named Death Wish Coffee. It hadn’t passed the expiration date but was getting close. He held it up so Jake could see it. “I hereby seize this under forfeiture laws. Now I’m going to pour some into that shiny machine and make a pot of strong coffee to help our noble search efforts.”

  When Terrell opened the coffee, Cody growled, observed Terrell and sniffed the air.

  Jake studied his dog’s body language.

  Terrell poured the ground coffee into the filter basket and a lump dropped out along with the grounds.

  Cody smelled something that didn’t fit in and started barking at Terrell, standing on his hind legs and pawing at the coffeemaker.

  Jake grabbed the coffee machine’s cord and pulled the plug from the wall outlet. “Hang on, Grinds. Cody smells trouble.”

  Chapter 33

  Terrell pulled the basket from the coffeemaker and dumped the grounds onto the kitchen counter, then pulled out his knife and pushed the grounds from side to side. “There’s the thumb drive, inside a little plastic tube. Rox, get to work on this thing.”

  Roxanne just stood staring at Cody with her eyebrows raised in surprise. Cody had helped find evidence the police search had missed. That was something that didn’t happen often, if at all.

  Roxanne grabbed the thumb drive and looked closely at it. “This kind of drive has privacy encryption, but I’ll use brute force attacks to hack the password.”

  Terrell nodded. “Be careful. You might find the virus from hell on there.”

  “I’ve got a sacrificial laptop I use for stuff like this.” Roxanne walked outside toward her van while talking to herself.

  Jake gave Cody a pat on the back. “Good work, buddy.”

  Terrell pointed at Cody. “Sometimes you are an amazing dog—although mostly you’re a worthless fuzzball.”

  Cody barked at Terrell and pushed his head against his stomach in rough play. Terrell let Cody push him around and scratched behind his ears as he called him all kinds of profane terms of endearment he’d learned in the Marines.

  Jake said, “Cody earned himself some grilled chicken. We’re going to grab some food from my favorite taco truck, and then come back here. You want me to bring you anything?”

  Terrell shook his head. “You need a taco truck intervention.”

  Jake and Cody went outside to the Jeep and drove down the long driveway. An unmarked police SUV was pulling in at the mansion. As it passed by, the driver glared at him. Jake frowned as he recognized Ray Kirby, the former partner of a policewoman named Cori Denton who had recently been hell-bent on destroying Jake’s life.

  “I sure hope he isn’t blaming me for all the trouble Denton got herself into,” Jake said.

  Cody stuck his head out the open window and barked, showing his teeth to Kirby as the SUV drove past.

  Jake headed toward his favorite food truck, his stomach growling with hunger. After a few miles, police lights flashed in his rearview mirrors from an unmarked SUV behind him that looked just like the one he’d seen Kirby driving.

  Jake pulled over, taking his illegal sheath knife from behind his back and hiding it inside the car’s center console. He wondered if he was legally allowed to flash the U.S. Marshals badge at Kirby and tell him to eff off. Probably not.

  Ray Kirby and his new female partner walked up to the Jeep and he rapped on the driver’s window with a nightstick. Jake opened his window an inch. “Hello Sergeant Kirby, what can I do for you, kind sir?”

  Kirby gestured to the badge hanging on his belt. “I pulled you over for speeding. You were going thirty-eight in a thirty-five zone.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Why is a plainclothes homicide inspector making a traffic stop while carrying a nightstick?”

  “You don’t mind if we take a quick look in the back of your Jeep, do you?”

  Jake knew it was a trick question. If you said no, they could take a look. “I do not give you permission to search my car.”

  “We have a report you performed work as a private investigator without a PI license.”

  “That report is mistaken. Who said that?”

  “Lauren Stephens. I stopped by her house, saw you there, and asked her why. She said you were working for her as a private investigator.”

  “No, I was working for her on a private security team. Lauren hired Executive Security Services and signed papers that said private security. It never said the word investigator. It’s all in writing, and it’s all perfectly legal. Call Levi Strauss right now and he’ll testify in my defense.”

  “Your witness is Levi Strauss, huh? He made great blue jeans, but he died over a hundred years ago. You can make a statement down at police headquarters.”

  “No thanks, I already made my statement right here. I’m sure you know that a lawsuit for false arrest could cost you and the city a ton of money in municipality litigation.”

  “Hiring a lawyer to file a lawsuit might cost you a lot too.”

  “I don’t need to hire a lawyer—as of today, I am one.”

  Kirby laughed. “Now you’re impersonating a lawyer too? That’s great. Get out of the car.”

  “No thanks, I like it inside the car just fine.”

  “You’re under arrest. If you don’t get out of the car, you’ll also be charged with resisting arrest.”

  “Actually, you’re attempting to make a false arrest, Kirby. I’m not breaking any laws—you are. Trust me; I know more about the law than you ever will.”

  “I’ll call a tow truck, haul your vehicle to impound, and use the Jaws of Life to open it. You’ll go to jail, and your dog will go to the animal control shelter. Not to mention, if that dog tries to bite me, I’ll have to shoot it in self-defense.” Kirby put his hand on the pistol in his belt holster and gave Jake a challenging look.

  Jake’s eyes got dark, and his face flushed. He gripped the steering wheel and tried to control his anger. He took deep breaths as he felt the beast inside of him rising to the surface. “Listen, if you leave my dog alone, I’ll cooperate with your illegal false arrest. Fair enough?”

&
nbsp; “I don’t make deals with criminals who are on their way to jail.”

  “Okay, I was just trying to reason with someone who will soon be suffering public humiliation, unemployment, and bankruptcy. But you win, Kirby—for now. I’m getting out of the car, slowly and peacefully. Hold your fire. You’re being recorded on video, sent to the cloud as evidence that will end your career.”

  “Step outside, turn around and raise your hands above your head.”

  Jake closed his car window and gave commands to Cody to escape capture. He added, “Cody, go to Terrell’s house, just like we’ve practiced. Understood?”

  Cody barked once. Jake opened his door and stepped out. When both cops were focused on Jake, he pressed the button to open Cody’s K-9 door. Cody jumped out, ran past the cops and disappeared. Jake stepped out, turned his back on Kirby, and raised his hands as instructed.

  Kirby ignored the dog. “Put your hands against the car. Take one step back and spread your feet.”

  Jake obeyed the orders. “In the inside pocket of my jacket is a letter from Washington that says you can’t arrest me unless you call the Secret Service first.”

  “Cover him,” Kirby said, and he began to frisk Jake while his partner stood off to the side with her pistol in her hand.

  Jake turned his head to the side and smiled at the other cop. “Hi, ma’am, how’s your day going? Sorry for this inconvenience. Ray is apparently holding a grudge against me because his former partner made some serious errors in judgment.”

  The woman shook her head at Jake, but looked doubtful as she observed what Kirby was doing.

  Kirby found the letter from the White House and put it in his pocket. “Are you currently on the payroll of the Secret Service, or any other government agency?”

  “No, not at the moment.”

  “Well, then, your magic letter is out of date and is no longer valid.” Kirby continued frisking Jake and found the pistol in Jake’s shoulder holster. “Gun!” He handed it to the other cop. He found a small pistol in an ankle holster. “Another gun!”

  “Calm down, Kirby, I have a permit,” Jake said.

  “I’m going to cuff you now. If you resist, we’ll use force to make you cooperate.” Kirby grabbed Jake’s right wrist, pulled it behind his back and slapped a cuff on it. He did the same with the left wrist, using far more force than necessary.

  “You’ve always been a good guy, Kirby—don’t change now,” Jake said.

  “You screwed over Sergeant Denton,” Kirby said.

  “No, she screwed the pooch all by herself. Where is she now, anyway?”

  “In custody, undergoing psychiatric evaluation to see if she’s mentally competent to stand trial. All thanks to you, asshole.”

  “Oh, it’s my fault she’s a psychopath? And you knew, but never warned anyone?”

  Once Jake was cuffed, Kirby swung his nightstick and hit Jake behind the knees. The surprise strike caused Jake to trip and stumble toward Kirby.

  “He’s coming at me!” Kirby said. He began beating Jake with the nightstick.

  Jake took several hits on his shoulders, back and thighs. He struggled against his instinct to fight back. He heard Cody barking frantically from a distance away.

  Suddenly the nightstick hit Jake on the back of the head, and the last thing he heard before he fell unconscious was Kirby saying, “That was for Denton.”

  Chapter 34

  Jails have a particular smell—sweaty prisoners, moldy mattresses, bad food, toilets, bleach, and lost hope. Anybody who has ever been locked in a cage never forgets it.

  Jake woke up and smelled jail. He’d been there before, and he’d hoped he would never return.

  He was flat on his back on a thin mattress in the drunk tank. His guess was that Kirby must have lied and said he was drunk, not suffering from an illegal nightstick hit to the back of his head.

  The overhead lights were bright, and Jake had a powerful headache.

  A giant shirtless white male prisoner was saying something to him.

  “Wake up, fresh meat. We need to have a little talk. Unless you’d rather just give up now, roll over and get used to being my new girlfriend.”

  Jake sat up and planted his feet on the floor. He took a deep breath and let it out. “And who might you be?”

  “They call me Party Animal.”

  “What are you in for Mr. Party Animal, sir?”

  “Dog fighting. We throw two abused pit bulls into a ring and bet on which one of them comes out alive. I must have won a dozen bets by now.”

  Jake glared at him in anger.

  Party Animal clenched his right hand into a fist, took a step forward and reached out with his left hand to grab Jake by the hair on top of his head.

  Jake decided to avoid being used as a human punching bag. He launched himself to his feet as he threw a punch in self defense. He brought his fist all the way from his knees, and it shot forward like a baseball flying over the center field fence for a home run. He slugged Party Animal’s throat so hard the man staggered backward, grabbed his throat with both hands and began wheezing for air.

  Jake’s hand felt like it had hit a brick wall. Next, he kicked the big man in the crotch. Party Animal dropped to his knees and swayed there. Jake gave him a Jeet Kune Do strike to the back of the neck. The man fell forward, Jake stepped aside, and his cellmate landed face-first on the concrete slab floor, just missing the toilet.

  Jake was amazed to see that the big brute was still conscious. He grabbed a toothbrush from the sink and pressed the pointed end of the handle against the man’s right eye. “I’m an abused dog who’s been reincarnated as a man to find you and kill you. Say your prayers, because this toothbrush is about to be shoved through your eye and into your evil brain.”

  The man tried to yell for help, but it came out as a wheezing howl.

  Jake dropped the toothbrush, sat back down on the bed and drew in deep, calming breaths. The calming part didn’t work. His combat training told him to kill the enemy. He had to override his heated response with cold control.

  He heard the sound of footsteps—shiny black shoes running in his direction. Two guards arrived at his cell, a black male and a white male. “Stand up and put your hands through the slot so we can cuff you,” the white guard yelled at him.

  Jake remained seated, and he gestured at his cellmate. “Mr. Party Animal tripped, fell down and hit his head. You should probably take him to the infirmary.”

  “Put your hands here, right now, or you’ll be sorry.”

  Jake stood up. “Okay, but you might be sorry too—I’m a lawyer.”

  The guard laughed. “No, you’re a loser.”

  Jake put his hands through the slot. “Maybe I’ll file a lawsuit in self defense, against Sergeant Kirby—and you, and your boss.”

  Jake saw the guard squinting at him—no doubt wondering if he really was a lawyer. He saw conflicting emotions playing across the guard’s face. “Let me guess. Sergeant Ray Kirby told you a lot of BS about me, right?”

  The guard put cuffs on Jake, opened the door and grabbed him by the bicep. “Get going, we’re taking you to the holding pen with the other scum.”

  “When do I get my phone call, as required by law?” Jake said as he walked.

  “There’s a long wait to make a phone call. You’ll get your turn eventually.”

  “Taxpayers pay millions of dollars, but you don’t buy enough phones? Where does the rest of the money go? To the warden? Not into your paycheck, I bet.”

  “Shut your stupid mouth and keep walking.”

  “Sorry, but I’m kind of disoriented. Ray Kirby hit me on the head with a nightstick, from behind, while I was handcuffed.”

  The two guards exchanged doubtful looks.

  “When my lawyer bails me out of here, I’ll tell him to give each of you a hundred dollars. The sooner he gets here, the sooner you get your money.”

  “You can’t bribe us—and a hundred is nothing.”

  “Five hundred d
ollars each if my lawyer is here within an hour. Two fifty each if it’s two hours. One hundred if it takes three hours. Zero money and maybe a lawsuit against you and your boss if it takes any longer.”

  The black guard appeared to Jake as if he was the tall, silent type, but he put a restraining hand on the other guard’s arm. “If you’re really a lawyer, give me some free legal advice. My sister got arrested, and I don’t have any money for her bail. It’s a thousand dollars, and I’m flat broke until payday. My credit cards are maxed out, and I don’t own anything I can pawn for that kind of cash. What can I do?”

  “Is she in this same jail?” Jake said.

  “Yes, in the women’s wing.”

  “What is she charged with?”

  “Drug charges—just for being at home when the cops came and arrested her stupid boyfriend. She had nothing to do with it. She’s a good kid with bad taste in men.”

  “Something similar happened to my friend, Dylan. I’ll make you a deal. Let me have my phone call right now, and I’ll get your sister bailed out along with me.”

  “Seriously? And can you help her lawyer up and beat the drug charges?”

  “I’ll do my best, and I’ll do it for free. But you have to get me in front of the night court judge so I can make bail and leave here immediately. Kirby threatened to shoot my dog, right before he hit me on the head. I have to find Cody and make sure he’s okay.”

  “You’ve got a deal. But you’d better keep your promise and get my sister bailed out tonight, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “I give you my word as a Marine. I won’t leave here without her,” Jake said.

  The guard nodded at Jake. He held out his arm and showed a Marine Corps tattoo of the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. “Semper Fi.”

  Jake held out his cuffed hands. “I’m Jake.”

  The guard shook hands. “Wayne.”

  They stopped to use the phone on their way to the holding pen. The guards told the prisoners to stand aside, and everyone grumbled and complained when Jake was led to the front of the line.

  Jake picked up the phone and tried to remember Bart’s number. The wound on his head was throbbing and he couldn’t think of the last four digits. He noticed dozens of paper notes and business cards tacked onto the wall in front of him. One of them was a card from Amborgetti’s Bail Bonds Agency. The owner was a distant cousin, and Jake had worked as a cook at Amborgetti’s Italian restaurant in his teens. He dialed the number.