The Beast of Tsunam (Rev Smalley: Galactic P.I. Book 1)
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books From Scott
Dedication
PART 1: ON THE REBOUND
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
PART 2: RIGHT IS WRONG
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
PART 3: LIVE AND LEARN
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
PART 4: IN FOR A PENNY—IN FOR A POUND
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Mom Be Lost
Prologue
PART 1: OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE
Chapter 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A CALL FOR HELP
FREE BOOK!
The Beast of Tsunam
A Rev Smalley,
Galactic P.I. Adventure
Scott A. Combs
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Scott A. Combs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without permission from the author.
ISBN-10: 1497511585
ISBN-13: 978-1497511583
OTHER BOOKS FROM SCOTT A. COMBS
SERIES
GEORGE & SALI ADVENTURES
The Kili Wanna Affair (Coming Soon)
The Feel Good Affair
SIR GILES THACKERY MYSTERIES
Murder on Euripides
REV SMALLEY, GALACTIC P.I.
The Beast of Tsunam
Mom Be Lost (Coming Soon)
STANDALONE
Tapper (Coming Soon)
For Trisha
PART 1: ON THE REBOUND
Chapter 1
REV SMALLEY WAS ANYTHING but small, standing at a full two meters tall, weighing more than one hundred and sixteen kilograms. His muscular body was crammed into the doorframe of the old government office. Harsh red night lighting from the subterranean hall backlit Rev, making his silver crewcut glow like it was on fire. A cloud of palpable disgust surrounded the P.I. as he glared menacing at the man behind the hand-carved ebony desk in an elegantly decorated room. It was oddly out of place in the aging tomb-like building. Rev took in the whole room with a quick glance. Exquisitely crafted furnishings from nearly every corner of the known galaxy were on display. It was obvious the occupant of this office had a love of the finer things in life, or at least a need to portray such an image.
The man behind the desk was Magnus Blackheart, Director of Earth Intelligence Agency (the EIA); a once powerful multi-national organization in charge of security for the entire planet. He was deep in thought, reading from a dossier newly arrived from the Alliance.
When Earth finally became aware of life in the universe, emissaries openly arrived and held out their hands in peace—at least the ones who had hands. The world was astonished at how diverse just their little galaxy really was with the Silenes, Trillons, Bliffoffs, Astrians, Golarts and the Tsunam who visited as soon as trade opened up. Nothing was the same again after that fateful day when Earth joined the Alliance. The Earth agreed to all the terms and conditions that came with its new galactic role; learning one overriding rule: that aggression towards sentient life wasn’t tolerated. So emphatic was the Alliance on this rule that punishment was quite aggressive: annihilation of the offending species. So Earth gave up its war toys and embraced the intergalactic community which left the EIA without much of a job. Yet it remained—a throwback to a more brutal time when black-ops kept the world safe.
The guard escorting Rev gave him a shove in the back with the barrel of a las-rifle. Rev clenched his right hand, thinking how nice it would feel to see the kid go down with a broken nose and some loose teeth. His knuckles cracked loudly. Magnus ignored the noise, intensely reviewing a digi-document.
“Call off your dog Magnus, before I dimple his face with a few bruises,” said Rev.
Without looking up from the elegant display, Magnus gestured the guard to leave with a dismissive, careless wave. The guard slung his weapon across a shoulder, saluted, turned and left the two alone.
Rev noticed the desk lamp perfectly reflecting its image from Magnus’ polished bald head and wondered if he actually buffed the pate of his skull with wax or if it was naturally that shiny.
Rev walked to a small wet bar and surveyed tonight’s choices. He figured if he had to be in the same room with the bastard who stole his girlfriend, then it was worth at least three fingers of a twenty-year-old scotch. His eyes strayed to what couldn’t be anything but a shrine for a very old bottle. The dark purple velvet skirt and raised ornate silver tray resting on the highest shelf told him this bottle of scotch had a special significance to Magnus. He could’ve found another acceptable bottle among the display of other fine liquors in the wet bar but Rev yanked the old, dusty, dark bottle from the tray and ripped the seal from its cap.
“You don’t mind if I pour me one?” asked Rev, watching Magnus while he continued reading. He could see the corner of Magnus’ eye raise as the paper seal was torn away. Rev never got used to those eyes. It was a genetic mistake that made Magnus’ eyes a deep shade of lavender. Although odd to look at, they were acutely sensitive and sharper than his eyes by a whole five points.
Rev poured the scotch, neat, into a tumbler and took a large swig. The liquid swished across his tongue and cleansed his palate before he swallowed. It was very smooth; the smell of oak lingered in his nose while a warm glow spread throughout his chest.
“Not bad for a twenty-year-old,” he said, eying the tumbler.
Magnus placed the digi-pad into the top right drawer and cupped his hands onto the neatly organized surface of his desk. “Actually it’s more like a hundred years and I’m glad you like it so well.”
“Did you steal it like everything else you have?” jibed Rev.
“It was a gift from the Steward of Scotland if you must know,” he replied. “The bottle was one of only three left in existence.”
“Damn nice of you to let me have some then,” said Rev, pouring another three fingers into the glass, “being it’s rare and all.”
“Yes, it is nice of me.”
“Tell me why I’m here at three in the morning when my tired butt should be getting its beauty rest,” said Rev. “I’m a hundred and thirty years old come next September.”
“We’re the same age,” remarked Magnus fully knowing they were the last surviving members of the eugenics experiments. They were designed to be stronger, smarter . . . expendable. Then the people of Earth got morality and banned any further stu
dy into improving the human race for soldier-slaves. “No one knows how old we’ll be before our unnatural deaths. Besides, you don’t look any older than forty.”
“Please,” said Rev rolling his eyes. “Thirty-eight is more like it.”
“Fine. Thirty-eight.”
There was a long painful silence as the two looked at each other, neither wanting to continue the idle banter. Rev broke the moment dragging a high-back, studded red leather chair to the front of the desk; sitting down with a tired sigh. “Whatever you’re gonna ask me, the answer’s no.”
“Really? I know your answer will be yes once you hear it.”
Rev snorted and gulped scotch down, emptying his tumbler. He could feel the alcohol starting to relax him. He might as well be drunk if he didn’t have a choice in the matter. So he poured another three fingers.
“You shouldn’t drink so much my old friend,” said Magnus.
“It’s none of your business what a civilian does, now is it?”
Magnus leaned forward and took the bottle. For a moment Rev thought about conking him across the forehead but let it go without too much trouble. Magnus opened a lower drawer and produced another tumbler, filling it. Slowly he swirled the chestnut-colored liquid and sniffed its aroma before taking a sip.
“You must be in some hot water to drag me back to this pit.”
“Very hot indeed,” remarked Magnus remembering some of the old times when they took on the bad guys from dozens of nations and a few from other worlds in the early days just after the Alliance.
“So I take it Earth is in need of my special talents?” prompted Rev.
“Exactly.”
“And you want me to come back to the agency?”
“Correct.” Magnus saw his chance to pitch his proposal. “I’ll reinstate you. You’ll no longer be a civilian and I’ll get you a pay grade of O-12 to boot. That’s what you always wanted. Respect and power.”
“Bullshit you will,” said Rev.
“It’s good money,” Magnus bribed.
“Not interested.”
“Why not? I heard you’re down on your luck with business being slow for a private detective. It can’t be easy, especially on a government pension like the one you took. How much was it? Ten thousand a month?”
Rev knew he was trying to egg him on by over estimating the pension funds. “Eighty-five hundred’s what it is and you damn well know it. Ninety-five years I did this world’s messiest jobs and no one gives a rat’s ass if I can afford a decent meal.”
“Then take the commission and cash in.”
“I can’t be bought like a street girl.”
“Who says that? Certainly not me. Think of it as payback time.” Rev looked into his eyes with enough fire to fry an egg. “Dammit Rev,” said Magnus, “I need your help.”
“Get Braz or Cassie to do your dirty work.”
Magnus swallowed the last of his scotch and slammed the empty tumbler down. “I did, you stupid ape.”
Rev digested Magnus’ last words with all the dread they implied. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach welled up. Braz was Cassie’s partner. Where one went, the other followed and Cassie was . . . well, the spurned love of his life.
Magnus’ expression changed and his eyes moistened. “They’re M.I.A. and presumed dead.”
* * *
“CHRIST, MAGNUS!” SAID REV. “What were you thinking?”
“I had no choice in the matter,” said Magnus. “The Tsunam sent an ambassador requesting help of an internal nature. One that needed an unofficial touch, so to speak. Of course, the Earth Coalition didn’t want to get involved and looked to the EIA to bail them out.”
Rev had heard this story before and nodded.
Magnus continued preaching to the choir. “We’ve been a thorn in their bureaucratic butts for years. There’s a fine line between love and hate that keeps us in business. They love us when we’re needed and they hate us because we’re needed. You of all people understand that the galaxy is a very big place and one sour apple could upset the delicate balance of peace.”
Rev drummed his fingers on the desktop in thought. He knew Tsunamians were pathetic when it came to aggression. Not that they weren’t capable of defending themselves in times of war, but he knew it took something big to have them asking for Earth’s aid. “What exactly happened that Tsunam would ask us for help?”
Magnus lowered his voice and smiled. “A murder.”
“Murder? On Tsunam?”
“Yes,” said Magnus sounding almost pleased.
“No wonder they’re upset,” said Rev. “If it’s true, and I don’t doubt you, then the Tsunam must be thinking their little utopia is about to crumble.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly,” said Magnus. “For tens of thousands of years they’ve had complete control of their populace. No hate, no love, no nothing; just a perfectly balanced existence. At least they think it’s perfect.”
“If you can’t chase the girls then it can’t be a perfect society,” said Rev.
Magnus agreed and continued. “When word came down someone was to actually be assigned to Tsunam—”
Rev interrupted, “Cassie wanted the assignment and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Magnus nodded. “And where she went—”
Rev interrupted again, “Braz would have to go too.”
“So I agreed to send them both,” said Magnus, “even though the Tsunam insisted only one agent could be sent.”
“They’d try to control the situation,” said Rev.
“They tried but I wouldn’t back down,” said Magnus. “Cassie and Braz or no one at all.”
“That must’ve chapped their butts,” said Rev. “Sending one human to their home world would be bad enough, but two must’ve put them over the top.”
“It certainly did, but the Earth Coalition agreed with my judgment and settled the matter by making something up about our species doing things in pairs.”
“The implication of sex must’ve really confused the Tsunam,” said Rev.
Magnus retrieved a data chip from his desk drawer and slid it to Rev. “That was just five days ago. The details are documented on this chip but I’d guess you wouldn’t really be interested since you’re not up for the job.”
“Why?”
“We both know how you feel about Cassie,” said Magnus. “Especially me. Because of her I lost my best friend and agent.”
Rev’s blood boiled. He pounded a fist hard against the tabletop smashing the little chip by accident. “I wasn’t the one who slept with my best friend’s girl.”
“Doesn’t matter what I’d say would it?” asked Magnus picking up the crushed data chip tossing it into the waste basket. “I regret the incident.” He paused momentarily thinking. “Technically, if I remember, you two were on the outs at the time.”
“Technically maybe, but friends don’t bed friends’ ex-lovers until said friend asks a friend’s permission.”
“Understood,” said Magnus.
“That’s why I left the agency. I had a bellyful of hurt—enough to last a lifetime.”
“You were the best and we sorely miss your skills,” said Magnus.
“I am the best,” corrected Rev smugly.
“Does this mean you’ll take the job?”
“Thinking about it.”
Magnus relaxed and sat back in his chair watching Rev intently. He never underestimated Rev’s cognitive powers and ranked him nearly as high as himself. Rev was just a different kind of smart. Where he was cold and calculating, Rev was sincere and meditative. They were very much alike in most ways, just polar opposites in personality. The old saying, “oil and water don’t mix,” described the both of them. But without them, you couldn’t make a good salad dressing.
Magnus broke the silence. “Well?”
“Still thinking on it.”
“Don’t think too long.”
“You said O-12 pay scale?”
“Yep.”
“And five grand per diem?”
“Okay.”
“Expenses paid. No questions asked?”
“Fine,” said Magnus starting to look upset.
“And you said something about my pension being raised to eighteen thousand a month.”
“I never said anything of the sort,” scoffed Magnus.
“I’m saying it now.”
“I can’t promise that.”
Rev started to get out of the chair.
“All right. Have it your own way,” relented Magnus. “Will you let me reinstate you now or do I have to find the keys to Fort Knox?”
“Nope, don’t want to be activated,” said Rev.
Magnus was dumbfounded. “What? I thought—”
“You’re going to hire me as a consultant, temporarily assigned to the agency. Give me what’s left of that bottle of scotch and find my old weapon before I move one muscle from this chair,” he said defiantly.
Magnus sat back in his chair, defeated. He pulled the bottom drawer open and produced a credential wallet and an old pockmarked series 9800 las-pistol and slid them across the desk.
“I kind of thought you’d want them,” said Magnus. He then reluctantly pushed the dark bottle of scotch to the edge of the desk.
Rev flipped the wallet open looking at an old holographic picture of himself from ninety years ago, smiled, closed it and put it neatly into a vest pocket. Then he inspected the weapon for the safety and charge settings. Satisfied, he clipped the small las-pistol to his hip. Next he scooped the bottle up from the desk and inspected the liquid by tipping it at an angle in front of the desk lamp.
“Thanks,” said Rev.
“You’re welcome.”
“When do I leave?”
“Now would be a good time if you’re not too inconvenienced,” said Magnus.
“I’m just guessing, but don’t you have to notify the Tsunamian government I’m coming?”
“Did that already.”
“And the Earth Coalition I’m going?”
“Done.”
“Stop the paper from being delivered to my doorstep?”