GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  First, I felt a slight vibration. Then a bass-sounding thud rattled my head.

  “He's here.” Andi said it before I could.

  “Sounds like the back door.” I rushed the words, knowing only one flight of stairs and a hollow door stood between us and a lethal killer. I just couldn't fathom which of the two thugs was the sharp-shooting assassin. Didn't matter at this point.

  I popped a knuckle. “Grab our sheet, quick.”

  “And do what with it, sop up all the blood you've spilled?”

  I ignored her again. I could get used to this.

  “Give me the other end, and let's twist it into a taut rope.”

  The entryway into our two-star apartment was recessed, two walls on either side until you got about four feet in. I guessed it helped create an illusion of more space.

  “Couple of more times,” I said, twisting the sheet, both of us still huddled by the bathroom.

  Her eyes kept shifting to the door. "He could be here any second," she said, walking toward the door, and I followed. Suddenly, two quick crackles, and glass sprayed everywhere.

  “Get down!” I yelled. Andi was on the floor before the words left my mouth.

  Glass crunched under my elbows and forearms, as I dragged myself past the window. Andi's back was flat against one wall, her chest heaving.

  “Holy shit, mother of Jesus!” she said.

  “Couldn't have said it better.” I hit the other wall, out of breath like I'd run two hundred yards carrying a car tire. “Someone doesn't like us very much.“

  “There's got to be two of them.”

  “That or the Godzilla of rats just broke into Chao Town.”

  For ten seconds, all I could hear was our breathing. I felt the sheet in my hand, and I wrapped it around my wrist. Andi took my cue and did the same.

  Thirty seconds must have passed. Not a peep from the rat or the shooter. A light blinked from my shorts. Must be a late-night text from...whom? A minute went by, and my impatience was building. I didn't want to walk into a trap, but how long would the killers wait?

  I first saw Andi put her finger to her mouth. She must have dog ears, because I didn't hear a thing, but I trusted her. I had to at this point.

  Suddenly, the door smashed open, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Heart-pounding shots rattled my core, and I realized the guy was firing wildly into the room. A black muzzle appeared right above eye level, sticking just beyond the entryway. More shots spraying all over the room, mirror glass shattering, cans exploding, plaster ripping into shreds, fabric bursting from mini-explosions, all from an automatic weapon no more than five feet away from me. The sounds were deafening. Andi and I each put an arm over our heads—like that would stop anything.

  A black military boot appeared. I met Andi's eyes, and we gripped our ends of the sheet. I wasn't sure if oxygen was reaching my brain, but I only know I saw a military-cut pant just as the man rushed the room. In perfect union, Andi and I lifted the limp sheet a foot off the floor and yanked it straight. I felt the huge boot clip the sheet, then the man's gun, nozzle down, bounced off the floor. A bullet fired somewhere. His second boot tried to recover balance, but we leaned backward, keeping the sheet rope taut, and the man literally flipped onto his head, finally landing awkwardly on his shoulder, his gun a good ten feet away.

  “Go!” I yelled to Andi. Even with her injured leg, she took one step then cut left through the door.

  Knowing the window sniper might be waiting to blow my head off, I dove across the room, skidding until my hands touched the gun. I eyed the man—wearing all black—who rolled onto his side. Not knowing how to fire it, I jumped to my feet and hurled the weapon through the window, shattering what was left of the glass and sending it down to the alley below. With the man now up on his hands and knees, I scooted out of the room, shutting what was left of the door behind me. I caught Andi on the staircase.

  “Sniper out back, right?”

  “Head to the front,” I said.

  Ten more quick steps, then left into the kitchen, weaving through tables, stacks of supplies, and shelves. Andi clipped the handle of a wok, and it tumbled off the counter. I lunged forward and snatched it out of the air just inches before impact.

  “Nice catch,” she said, then we both kept moving. I glanced back and didn't see anything, but I knew it was only a matter of time before our military assassin pals caught up to us.

  Andi shoved the swinging door open, and we entered the dining area. We made a beeline toward the glass front door, hoping it wouldn't be locked.

  “Dammit.” Andi said, rattling the deadbolt.

  So close to escaping death, I could see streetlights illuminate the street just outside, our only escape route. I thought I heard something, and I turned to face the swivel door to the kitchen. Nothing...yet. I imagined the gun-wielding lunatic crashing through the door, firing his weapon at us from point-blank range. Pressure battered my head. Was it still the remnants of my concussion?

  I blinked then spotted a wooden-framed chair stacked on top of a table. I didn't want to ruin Mr. Chao's place, but we had no other options. I gripped two legs and felt the weight of the chair. I centered my weight, clenched my jaw. Just as I prepared to swing the chair off the table, I heard a jingle, and I stopped breathing.

  “Down there,” Andi said.

  Something touched my leg.

  I jumped back in some type of fighting position, my pulse racing through my veins.

  Scared eyes on a scrunched face stared back at me. An older man, one of Mr. Chao's workers, appeared to be shaking.

  “Keys?” he asked.

  I lowered my body, like I was approaching a frightened puppy. He appeared to be south of five-six, but looked even smaller crouched into an egg-like shape. He wore Chao Town's typical white uniform and a white cap. A trembling arm extended a foot from his protective shell, and the keys jingled.

  “Keys?” he asked again, his voice quivering as much as his arm.

  “We're not here to hurt you. We live upstairs in the—”

  “I know. Michael, Andi. Keys?”

  I reached out and grabbed the keys. "Thank you." I glanced back at the kitchen door, then jogged over to the front door and poked a key into the lock. Didn't work, so I tried another. On the third attempt, the key slid in, and I unlocked the door. Andi grabbed the door handle and took two steps out.

  “Hold on.”

  I jogged back to the table and reached for the man's arm. He scooted backward a few inches.

  “Come on. We've got to get out of here. The men could show up at any second.” I thought I heard the clang of a metal door. “Please, come on.“

  I reached back and grabbed a hand, but he yanked it back.

  “I stay here.” He pressed his body against the wall and brought his arms over his head.

  “Michael, we've got to go. Now.”

  A wave of desperation rushed over me. “Please, I don't want them to hurt you. Please come with us.”

  “I stay here.”

  I knew we only had seconds. I grabbed two more chairs and blocked the opening under the table.

  “Come on!” Andi said, holding the door open, her head looking up and down the street.

  I ran to the entryway, glanced back at the table, realizing I'd done all I could.

  Without a soul in sight, Andi and I ran down the sidewalk, cut across the barren street, and zigzagged through China Town.

  We were free...for now.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Present Day

  I thought I heard a whimper. I glanced to my left, and Andi was hoofing it through the streets and alleys of San Francisco like a woman on a mission. Actually, she was running like a person who'd been shot just a few days earlier, but aside from the hobbling gait, the rest of her body seemed strong, ready to run through a brick wall, if it came to that. And given our luck, it just might.

  “This way,” I said, hanging a left down one of the many side streets. I wasn't exactly sure how t
o find Jet's home, but I didn't want to bring the gunfight to his home anyway, so Andi and I ran the opposite direction, down into the bowels of the financial district, heading toward the eastern part of the city.

  “How's your leg?” I asked through huffing breaths.

  “Better than your ear.” I saw her look in my direction, but neither of us hesitated for even a second.

  I could still feel the reverberation of the automatic weapon firing just a few feet from me, the thunderous explosion of each bullet leaving the muzzle, a tiny puff of smoke in its wake.

  I tried to stay in the moment. Breath, jog, keep my form, and find a safe place.

  We darted down an alley and nearly ran over two homeless people rummaging through a pair of trashcans.

  “On the run?” one man said, raising his head just above the trashcan rim. The other guy didn't look up.

  For whatever reason, Andi and I both slowed to a stop, probably because we'd run at least two miles and needed a break.

  I leaned over, hands on my knees.

  “Just out for an early morning jog,” I said between breaths and not very convincingly.

  “Yeah, right.”

  He wore gloves, but his fingertips were exposed. I hadn't noticed until I saw my own breath, but I guess it was pretty damn cold. Frankly, the running had helped open my lungs, clear my mind a bit, despite my ear still throbbing. I dared not touch the bloody thing.

  I glanced over at Andi, who was jiggling her thigh.

  “Just making sure my muscle doesn't lock up.”

  I nodded.

  “You need something to eat, drink?” the voice behind us asked.

  Both Andi and I looked at the man in the cut-off gloves. He wore an oversized coat, a purple scarf, baggy green pants, and shoes that didn't match.

  “Uh, well...” I didn't have my wallet on me. I only had a cell phone, our lifeline, and I wasn't about to barter it for two crackers and three-day-old lasagna scraped off the bottom of a trashcan.

  “Follow me,” the man said and walked between Andi and me deeper into the alley. I looked at Andi and shrugged, then glanced over at the other man, who had both arms in the trash, digging, occasionally plucking an item from the four-foot-deep bin and placing it in a grocery cart to his right.

  “You worried?” Andi asked as we walked about ten paces behind the first guy.

  “About these two? I don't think so. About everyone else trying to kill us? Without a doubt,” I said.

  “What's your name?” she asked the man as we met him at his home, a six-by-twelve cardboard box.

  “Rocko. Rocko Pendola,” the man said.

  Andi looked at me. "Is that your real name?" she asked.

  “You figure that out,” he said with his back to us.

  I guess he had a past. If you asked the SFPD, I was beginning to have one as well. But I was hoping that I—along with Camila and my buddy Andi—also had a future.

  The man placed various cans on cardboard shelves built into the cardboard back wall. As a kid, I would have thought this was the coolest hideout in the world. As an adult, I was almost there.

  “Okay, we've got canned baked beans, canned corn, canned refried beans on the left. Here on the fruit side, I can offer you canned pineapple, canned peaches, and a big jar of cinnamon applesauce.”

  He pulled a plastic spoon out of his pocket, breathed on it, wiped it with his purple scarf, then extended it to us. “If you're hungry for the applesauce.”

  Andi pursed her lips. I could see wheels turning, as she looked for a balanced answer.

  “Not real hungry for applesauce, but the pineapple sounds good.” She pointed toward the can.

  “Here you go...”

  “Andi. Thank you, Rocko.”

  “Is that your real name?“ He paused, looking directly into her eyes. "I'm just kidding with ya." He let out a phlegmy chuckle. Andi and I each took half a step backward, not wanting whatever he had, but still managing to laugh along with Rocko.

  “Okay, Rocko, I'll take some of those peaches.”

  He tossed them to me, then I pulled open the can.

  “I only go with the pull-top cans. Don't like to mess with can openers,” Rocko said.

  “I hear you,” I said, then pulled out a peach and took a bite.

  “Those will give you the shits, you know.” A powerful voice behind us nearly caused me to upchuck my peach. I knew I was on edge after the Zero Dark Thirty raid on our apartment. Andi and I both moved under the lid of the cardboard home, turning to see Rocko's buddy.

  “Larry?” Andi leaned forward, staring at a man wearing a beret.

  “The one and only,” he said, taking a closer look at her, then at me. “The pair screwing around on Mount Sutro?“ he asked, the corners of his mouth turning skyward.

  “Oh, Larry,” Andi said, who leaned in and gave him a hug.

  This was the dude who had cracked my face in two, for no reason I might add.

  Larry extended his hand, who, like Rocko, had it covered with a fingerless glove. I shook it, but felt something under it.

  “What's under your glove?”

  He seemed a tad embarrassed. "Oh, well, it's just a little protection, that's all." He paused. I guessed he thought I'd blow off the question. I knew it wasn't a condom, but I wanted him to show me nonetheless.

  He pulled out a set of brass knuckles, then released a reluctant chuckle.

  “So that's how you knocked my lights out,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, a man's got to protect himself.”

  I touched my still-visible stitches under my eyes. "You did a fine job, Larry. But it's water under the bridge." I shook his hand, patted his arm at the same time.

  I wished it was that easy to negotiate a peace settlement with the commandos hunting us down. I recalled my quick glance at the guy who had rushed our apartment like a bat out of hell. Built like a Russian tank, and clad in all black, he had bronze skin and dark hair cropped extremely short. I remember a green vein snaking down his forearm...and muscles, plenty of muscles.

  We each sat on orange five-gallon buckets. Larry and Rocko pulled out candy bars.

  “Kind of got a sweet tooth,” Larry said, as a gooey nugget clung to his chin, waving in the wind.

  Andi motioned toward her own mouth, a helpful gesture I'd witnessed before. "Believe me, chocolate is my biggest weakness," she said, which drew my attention.

  “I didn't know you had a weakness. I thought you were the queen of discipline,” I said.

  She gave me a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “You're just jealous because I smoked you in our run the other day.”

  I laughed but knew if I didn't stay in top shape she would take pure enjoyment in embarrassing me in any athletic endeavor.

  I finished off the last of the peaches then held up the can.

  “Oh, you can toss it in that box,” Larry said, pointing. “We put all the recyclables in that one.“

  I padded my shorts and remembered—I'd received a text just as Rambo crashed into our apartment.

  I pulled out my phone. The late-night text was from Satish.

  “Andi, read this with me.” I held the phone in between us.

  "Been spotted snooping on Camila's network. Dont hav much time. Need 2 scramble my trail. Our operation might b target. Found strange doc—MUST READ. I'll call u. Out."

  “Out?” I asked Andi, for whatever reason focusing on his last word.

  “It's just how he signs off when he sends a text.”

  Andi's eyes held a hint of fear. “Do you think they're after Satish too?”

  “Shit. With the technology that exists today, I can't imagine he wasn't detected.” I rubbed the back of my neck, then carefully touched the dried blood and tiny bumps on my ear. I might have winced a bit.

  Larry and Rocko both glanced at the side of my head, then looked at each other but with no significant change in facial expressions.

  Larry took another bite of his candy bar. "Did you go for the doubl
e ear-piercing?" Larry asked with a straight face.

  My mind was so clouded trying to decipher the disturbing text from Satish, I wasn't sure if Larry was serious.

  I shook my head. “I, uh...it's not like that.”

  “Michael, I think we can trust Larry and Rocko.”

  Eyeing my other half, Andi, who enjoyed speaking up at the least opportune times, I chewed the inside of my cheek.

  “I know I punched your lights out,” Larry said, accompanied by a quiet snicker from Rocko. “But it's all behind us. You said so yourself. I helped get you to the doc, Andi helped keep me out of the slammer. It's like we have this strange connection or something.“

  I paused, apparently too long.

  “You could have done worse,” Rocko said, looking at me then Andi.

  “What? Uh, no.”

  Rocko broke out in laughter. "I'm just giving you shit, man. Look, everyone's got shit in their past, things that just never go away. Believe me, on these streets, we've either done it, seen it, or heard about it." He elbowed his partner.

  “Amen to that,” Larry said then crossed himself.

  An engine came to life then zoomed by the alley. I lifted off the bucket in no time, my heart jumping out of my chest.

  “Damn, you're on edge,” Rocko said.

  “If you'd witnessed what we just did, you would be too, regardless of what you've seen on these streets,” Andi said.

  Rocko nodded. “I get you. Just to calm your nerves, that's Al. He's owns a bakery on Fifth, and goes into work each morning at two. Crazy-ass hours. But then again, we're all a little bit crazy, aren't we?”

  Rocko elbowed Larry again, and they shared a hearty laugh.

  I sat back down, then unloaded our entire story, from the moment I laid eyes on Camila, watching her brother die at my feet, being followed, assaulted, the strange interaction I saw Camila have with this guy named Franco, all of my arrests, witnessing Camila's possible kidnapping, finding the computer lab at Swan Massage Therapy, the near-death experience in the alley before being saved by our own Bruce Lee, Andi being shot, finding the disturbing W-M-D letters on the paper, the gun rampage at our apartment, and our escape from our apartment an hour earlier.