The Paradise Key (Harvey Bennett Thrillers Book 5)
Page 32
I dialed the number I’d memorized years ago.
It rang.
Nothing.
No answering machine, no message.
Not surprising, considering the circumstances.
I considered throwing the phone across the room, but it was my only one. And I would never get through using Joey’s. Instead, I grabbed a phonebook — the most useless object in the entire building — and chucked it over the shelf I’d set in the middle of the back room.
But the chucking I’d wound up for was far less powerful than I’d hoped, and the phonebook flapped open, caught the air, and slammed against the five-gallon bucket of sugar on top of the shelf. Problem was the bucket wasn’t full, so it fell sideways easily and dumped its half-full contents of pure white sweetener onto the tiled floor.
I thought of a string of curses that would pair nicely with the situation and instead let out a long, slow, sigh.
Getting old sucks.
I wasn’t even that out of shape. I knew the problem, and when I have a problem, there’s really not much I want to focus on until I’ve solved it.
This problem was bigger and much more important than some spilled sugar.
I need to find that token.
I tried again, knowing what I would hear. Sure enough, no answer. “Dammit!” I slammed it shut— I still use an old-school flip phone because the thing just can’t be killed and, let’s be honest, I’m somewhat of a curmudgeon — and tossed it into a pocket. Heading for the back door, I grabbed my car keys off the hook and opened the door to the alley.
My car was parked across the small access road that goes to the alley, the same one Hannah had been standing in talking on the phone last night. I made it a point to check out the spot where I’d taken out the mark, to see how well Joey had cleaned it up.
As usual, there wasn’t even a circle of clean asphalt where the body had been previously. Joey had taken the time to do something he called ‘futzing up’ the area, moving leaves and sticks around to make it blend in once again with the rest of the road. He’d even tossed a crushed beer can onto the spot, for effect.
And of course there was no sign of the mark. Once again Joey had performed his duties exceptionally well. Still, I glanced around once more, hoping that in the daylight I’d be able to see the sparkle of a token that might have rolled away.
I found nothing.
My car, a beat-up 1995 Toyota Corolla I refused to replace, sat waiting against the wall of the building next door. I hopped in, still frustrated, and started driving away.
I needed this money, and I needed it yesterday. My mortgage was due, and while the bar itself brought in plenty, I had planned on paying off the balance twice as fast as the bank required. Not to mention I had a place to live — a small rental on the other side of town — that needed to be paid for.
My retirement account was a joke at this point. I had taken the bulk of it out to afford the downpayment on the bar, and the rest of it was my collateral for the improvement loan I had taken out for the repairs and to flip the place into what it was today. There was still plenty more to do, but there would be time for all of that, I hoped. Some day.
I drove in silence, refusing to allow any music through the speakers that might accidentally improve my sour mood. Sometimes you just needed to be pissed, and this was one of those moments. I wanted to feel that I’d messed up, instead of just knowing it. I’d never not gotten a token before I’d taken out the mark, so I was already in uncharted territory. The fact that Hannah and her brother were hanging around while I helped her look for whoever killed her dad was just icing on the shitstorm cake.
I knew the real reason I wanted to help her. It was her. She was… what was she? I didn’t know her, but I felt like I wanted to. I needed her in my life right now, even if I didn’t fully understand why.
Best of all, I was sane and lucid enough to know that my feelings for her were exactly why I shouldn’t have anything to do with her. Still, I knew I’d wrap my life around hers as much as she’d let me, even after knowing her for mere hours. I really am a desperate fool.
I finally gave in and turned on the radio, hoping something there would jumpstart my thoughts onto a different path, but an old Johnny Cash crooned out into my ears and solidified everything I’d been churning through.
First things first, I told myself. Get that money.
I made it through the one-street town and up into the backcountry, heading northwest on 174, away from the coast. About two minutes up the road I pulled the Corolla off and drove along the shoulder for a half mile, going slow, until I found it: a small opening in the stretch of trees that perfectly masked a tiny old dirt road. I turned onto it, making sure there weren’t any cars in the rearview mirror or coming over the road in front of me, then kept driving.
The old Corolla had been through hell with me, but I’d rebuilt it twice and had a friend in town who helped with smaller repairs when I got too busy to do them myself. It was a solid, reliable, easy-to-fix piece that got me where I needed to go, but every time I drove this path I felt my knuckles tighten up. I always thought that I’d be walking home, leaving the old ride dead somewhere along this road, the engine finally used up and the suspension wasted.
Surprisingly I made it through the trees yet again, and brought it to a stop just in front of a massive boulder. The rock was one of many that had somehow been strewn around here from something during a previous epoch in time, and the whole of them together formed a natural opening in the forest, large enough to walk around in yet small enough for the trees to pull back together high above my head.
I hadn’t found this place — the boss did, I assumed — but I liked it. To me it wasn’t only a place to find my money, but it was a place of solitude. I likened it to Superman’s Fortress of Solitude, except a bit warmer most of the year.
Sometimes I came out here even if there wasn’t money waiting for me. It was nice to get away from things, even though the town I lived in now would have no trouble making their city’s slogan ‘the place you go when you want to get away from things.’ My fortress was even more away from things.
I don’t know how the path had ever gotten there, but I’d never seen anyone else on it. I assumed it was cut by a moonshining outfit from years ago, using these rocks as a perfect hideout as they made their liquor. Still, there wasn’t a water supply anywhere nearby that I knew about.
I took a minute to smell the air and enjoy the perfect calm of the woods. It was still, but not quiet, the sounds of small mammals and the godforsaken seagulls penetrating the walls of my fortress and into my head as I stood there. Finally, I started walking.
Past the huge boulder, around two more smaller ones, and toward a fourth that sat at the back of the line, along the perimeter of the circle. I came to the side of it and knelt down. Feeling around in the leaves, I looked for the loosely packed pile of dirt that meant I’d found it.
When I did, I started digging. The dirt was loose like it always was, the only sign that someone had come through here and tampered with a bit of Mother Earth. About a foot down, I found what I was looking for. The top of the metal box was rusty, but it worked well enough to keep out the majority of the moisture and crap in the ground.
I pulled it up to my lap, greedily hurrying as I reached for the small padlock and began to unlock it. I knew as soon as it was resting on my thighs that there was something wrong.
I finished unlocking it and swung open the lid, hoping that I was wrong and that the weight was throwing me off.
It was empty. Even the silk bag that kept the money out of the weather was gone.
“Shit.” I didn’t yell, but I didn’t need to. Inside, I was screaming.
I said it again a few times, all while looking down at the empty box.
What happened? I hadn’t found the token, but there was no way the boss would have known that and come back to remove the money. There was no way he could have known that I didn’t have the token on me now.
“Shit.”
I flung the box into the hole, kicked a bit of soil on top, and stood up, brushing my palms off on my jeans. This is not good. I didn’t even bother making it look natural. It didn’t matter now.
I’d left the Corolla running, knowing I wouldn’t be long, and I always did like the idea of making sure I had a fast getaway plan. As unlikely as it might be out here, I didn’t want anyone getting the jump on me.
Getting back into the Corolla once again, I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed the number a third time. I shut the door and listened to the ringing over the sound of the engine.
This time I didn’t even make it through a full cycle. The ringing cut off after two and a half rings, and I knew the boss was sending me a message.
You screwed it up.
I knew he was right. I screwed this up.
###
Want more? Keep reading Mark for Blood by picking up a copy here.
Also by Nick Thacker
Mason Dixon Thrillers
Mark for Blood (Mason Dixon Thrillers, Book 1)
Death Mark (Mason Dixon Thrillers, Book 2)
Harvey Bennett Thrillers
The Enigma Strain (Harvey Bennett Thrillers, Book 1)
The Amazon Code (Harvey Bennett Thrillers, Book 2)
The Ice Chasm (Harvey Bennett Thrillers, Book 3)
The Jefferson Legacy (Harvey Bennett Thrillers, Book 4)
The Paradise Key (Harvey Bennett Thrillers, Book 5)
Harvey Bennett Thrillers - Books 1-3
Relics
Relics: One
Relics: Two
Relics: Three
Relics: Omnibus
The Lucid
The Lucid: Episode One (written with Kevin Tumlinson)
The Lucid: Episode Two (written with Kevin Tumlinson)
The Lucid: Episode Three (written with Kevin Tumlinson
Standalone Thrillers
The Atlantis Stone (previously published as The Golden Crystal)
The Depths
The Atlantis Deception (A.G. Riddle’s The Origins Mystery series)
Killer Thrillers (3 Action-Adventure Thrillers)
Short Stories
I, Sergeant
Instinct
The Gray Picture of Dorian
Uncanny Divide
Nonfiction:
Welcome Home: The Author's Guide to Building A Marketing Home Base
Expert Blogging: Building A Blog for Readers
The Dead-Simple Guide to Guest Posts
The Dead-Simple Guide to Amazing Headlines
The Dead-Simple Guide to Pillar Content
About the Author
Nick Thacker is an author from Texas who lives in a cabin on a mountain in Colorado, because Colorado has mountains, microbreweries, and fantastic weather. In his free time, he enjoys reading, brewing beer (and whisky), skiing, golfing, and hanging out with his beautiful wife, tortoise, two dogs, and two daughters.
In addition to his fiction work, Nick is the author of several nonfiction books on marketing, publishing, writing, and building online platforms. Find out more at www.WriteHacked.com.
For more information, visit Nick online:
www.nickthacker.com
nick@nickthacker.com
The Paradise Key
Harvey Bennett Thrillers, Book #5
Copyright © 2017 by Nick Thacker, Turtleshell Press
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2018
Nick Thacker Colorado Springs, CO
www.NickThacker.com
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