GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  With his breathing well controlled and his legs in prime shape, he knew this would be the day he marked his calendar—a new record would reign. He could sense it. But he couldn't get cocky. He had to stay focused, within the moment.

  Hard right turn, then he jumped onto his toes and swayed his weight back and forth as he climbed one of three good-sized hills during his almost five-mile trek. He could hear his breathing inside his helmet, and his thoughts. They were clear, single-minded. It was all about the goal—break the record or die trying.

  Gravity pushed him toward the road on a long curve left that he took at a high rate of speed. Traveling at a torrid twenty-five miles per hour, for just a second he felt his back tire kick out, but he righted the bike and didn't slow down.

  Breaking records took risk, and he was going for it this morning. He zoomed by houses and parks on both sides, his bare knuckles now feeling the bite of the early-morning chill. He ignored the numbing pain and continued to crank the pedals, his thigh and calf muscles working in perfect unison.

  On the apex of the highest part of his ride, he could always make out the twinkle of lights on the hilltop to his right, and this morning was no different, which meant that the San Francisco suburb had avoided a blanket of fog. That only gave him more confidence, knowing he'd have no visual impairment on his ride for the record books.

  Long shadows were up ahead, the lowest point in his short bike tour. Giant redwoods towered on his right side, a round moon painted in the sky. As he moved under their view, the moonlight flickered between the protective trees and dangling pinecones.

  Out of nowhere, he felt a prick at his lower lip. Was it one of those crazy, fucking bees that had swarmed the area recently? He swatted at his face, and his lip flew off, catching between his fingers on the handlebars. He released a mortified scream and stopped pedaling, as pain tore through his body.

  Still moving at a break-neck speed, droplets of blood hurled every direction. His tongue reached for his lip, and it just wasn't there. Tears streamed down his face, and he wondered what the hell had happened.

  A second later, his ribs felt like they'd been cracked in two. His breathing capacity instantly was cut in half. His head became light, and he began to lose his balance. The scent of pine needles and blood hung in the air, just as he got to the edge of a small ravine, the tires wobbling out of control...then he tumbled down a ten-foot embankment, his bike and his body careening off the ground.

  Finally still, feet knotted around his chain, he sobbed, calling out for his mom, dad, anyone. Fear gripped every fiber of his body, because he knew no one could hear, and no one would come.

  But someone did.

  Just as he had come to grips with losing his lip and learning to breathe with reduced lung capacity, while staring up at the moon between a couple of swaying branches, he heard needles crunch under heavy footsteps.

  “Anyone dere?” he asked, using as little of his lips as possible. He felt like a statue, any movement shooting shards of unbearable pain into his ribs and his lower lip—or what was left of it.

  The crunching stopped. No sound for at least five seconds.

  “Pease, help ee.” His voice quivered, his pulse skyrocketing.

  Suddenly, something, someone kicked off his helmet, breaking the strap from around his ample chin.

  “Ow. Who is dis?” he asked, but couldn't see a person.

  The moon disappeared, and in its place stood a man, not very tall, but extremely thick in all the right places. Wearing black, with some type of grease on his face, he had no expression.

  “Why you do dis?” YY pleaded with tears flowing.

  The man remained silent and provided no visual response.

  “Why you hurt ee?” YY had run out of energy, and his eyes barely remained open.

  The man raised a pistol and pointed at YY's chest. YY heard a muted noise, then it felt like a dozen baseball bats had been slugged into his chest wall. He literally could not breathe.

  He didn't have to. The final shot pierced his forehead, right between his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Nothing against you, Dr. Jimsic, but that mother—”

  “Michael!” Andi derided.

  Through clenched teeth and a pulsating jaw, I counted to five, seeking a calmer place. I think my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

  “Sorry.” I glanced at Andi then back at the doctor holding a metal object like a pair of chopsticks. “The instrument you're using or the method in which you're using it...something's got to change. It's like you're carving me up for lunch, from the inside out.“ I wiped a layer of sweat off my forehead.

  “You said you didn't want me to put you under.” The fifty-something doctor, who wore a blue button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves, spoke in an even-keeled yet direct manner. “And, given your aversion to needles, I can see why you thought the better choice would be for me to essentially perform an operation using only local anesthetic on your ear. I assure you, I'm using the most care possible. I've been pulling glass from ears, faces, even buttocks for more years than your girlfriend here has been walking the earth.“

  “He's not my boyfriend.”

  “And she's not my girlfriend. Jeez.” Lying on my back on top of a kitchen island, I shook my head.

  “Hey, it can't be that bad of a label,” Andi said.

  “No offense. It's just this ear has got me on edge, I feel like I could dig a trench into my arm with a fingernail and it wouldn't hurt as much.”

  “Probably wouldn't,” Dr. Jimsic said. “But it's not advisable. You've lost enough blood, and I don't want to have to deal with a secondary infection.“

  I nodded, realizing the good doctor understood my sarcasm.

  I exhaled and debated which path I should take. I looked left and saw a metal stand holding an IV drip. I knew the needle was close by.

  “Reconsidering your options at this point? I think we have about eight to ten more shards of glass to extricate,” the doctor said through metal-rimmed glasses.

  “Can't the ear heal on its own?”

  “With glass embedded in your ear? Even I know that's not smart, and I'm just a journalist,” Andi said. “Hold on a second.“

  She turned around, sifted through a couple of drawers, found a gold and red kitchen towel and held it under running water. Then she twisted it into a thick rope and brought to my mouth.

  “Chew bar?” I asked.

  “I had the privilege when Aunt Sylvia cleaned out my leg,” Andi said, as the doctor glanced over at her thigh. “This will accomplish two things: help you deal with the pain, and block your sailor mouth from saying something that you'll regret later.“

  She shoved it in, and the doctor went back to work. I chomped down like my life depended on it, and I closed my eyes, trying to take my mind to a different place.

  I recalled showing up at this apartment early this morning, my frayed nerves on edge as I watched the backs of Larry and Rocko speak to their friend, who they were convinced could help people in trouble, like Andi and me. I'd become so paranoid, I literally came within a couple of seconds of grabbing Andi's hand and escaping through the EXIT door.

  When our new pals moved aside, my pulse dropped liked a rock, as relief engulfed my body. Ji Ho, the stocky Chinese man who'd done some investigative work for me a few weeks ago, was the same man who could fix everything, according to Larry and Rocko. Still, his stoic mug was beautiful to my tired eyes and battered body.

  He stuck out his hand. I started with a return handshake and finished with a half-hug. I saw him attempt to look around me.

  “Oh, this is Andi.”

  He nodded, and they shook hands. Andi's grip was firm, no doubt ensuring Ji knew she was no wilting flower.

  “It's nice to meet you, Ji,” she said.

  Ji showed all of us in, and Andi whispered to me. “I still think it would be cool if he went with Ji-Lo.”

  I shook my head and scrunched my eyes together.

 
; “I'm aware of this Jennifer Lopez. J-Lo,” Ji said, cracking the slightest of smiles. “But I'm not a pop diva. I'm just Ji. Ji Ho.“

  I glanced at Andi, whose olive skin showed a few splotches of pink.

  Ji offered all of us bottled waters, then we sat around his kitchen table. I realized even at two a.m., his black, greased-back hair appeared to be set in glue.

  “So, how do you know Rocko and Larry?” I enjoyed being the one asking questions.

  Ji eyed both of them. “When I was a cop, we had a couple of run-ins. I got to know them, and saw them for who they really are. Good people, smart people. They became my ears on the streets. Helped me take down a few heavy hitters.”

  Ji smacked each of the side of the arm.

  “Don't let him fool you. Ji's more than returned the favor. He got me into rehab, for one. Helped us with shelter, food, even allowed us to stay here on more than one occasion, before the fancy remodeling job,” Larry said.

  “Yeah, come to think of it, you haven't invited us over since they flipped this into a respectable, high-class place,” Rocko said, smiling the entire time.

  Ji's lips formed a straight line, and he folded his arms on the table. “Michael, you have taken over the investigation into Gustavo's death, and finding out about Camila, and now trouble has found you, no?”

  “Trouble...might be my middle name, depending if you talk to certain folks at your old employer.”

  He nodded. “I need to hear everything, in detail. From the start, please.”

  “You don't need to record all of this?” Andi said.

  Ji shook his head.

  “No notebook, nothing?”

  He pointed to the side of his head. "Brain works just as good as it did twenty years ago. Body? Not so much." That drew a hearty laugh from Larry.

  “Anyway, Michael, Andi, please.”

  My nose twitched. Being inside four walls with our pals, Larry and Rocko, I'd picked up a couple of different smells, thick aftershave and a moth-balled, musty scent. Made sense, considering their refurbished clothes, and I knew it could have been far worse.

  Ji gestured, and we responded with the entire story. I felt we should have already made our own recording, like an audiobook, and then just added in new chapters as shit kept happening. Ji didn't want the condensed version. He was looking for specifics—facial features, clothing descriptions, smells that may have been associated with the people or places we'd come in contact with, including Camila, which reminded me of the lemon smell from her massage business. Then I recalled our heads nearly touching, the scent of her hair just barely making it to my nose, something natural, maybe with an ocean smell of some kind.

  Andi chimed in, adding a lot of the details when I couldn't, such as during the time I was suffering from a concussion.

  “Tell me what you are thinking, your gut instinct. Why do you think each event happened? Why you? How do you think they located you?”

  Lots of questions from a former cop, detective, and now a darn good private investigator. I understood why he asked each one, and we did our best to provide facts and our opinions.

  “I still can't tell you how they knew where we were each and every time,” I said.

  “But they didn't follow us out to Satish's house,” Andi reminded me.

  “That we know of,” I added. “By the way, we still haven't heard from Satish. He said he found some document that we must read.“ I checked my watch and saw that it was just a couple of minutes before three a.m.

  “He's probably sleeping, or possibly battling a band of terrorists in a war-torn province in the Middle East, saving kids with one hand, firing an Uzi with the other.”

  Three awkward stares from Larry, Rocko, and Ji.

  “Oh, sorry. Satish is a world-class gamer. Video games.” Andi wiggled fingers like she was toying with an X-Box controller, and then the three men nodded in tandem.

  We shared the Satish chapter of the story, and Ji nodded. “Lots of computer nerds in this area. But some don't have common sense, street sense. That's more important, if you ask me. Sorry, you may continue.”

  Andi jumped in. "We forgot about that one guy breaking into our hotel room...probably because it just doesn't connect." She explained the strange circumstances.

  “Tell me more about this object.”

  “Don't have it on us. It's back at the apartment above Chao Town, where about ten or twenty of your former colleagues are trying to figure out who was behind the shootout. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Mr. Chao has to give them our names,” I said looking down.

  Ji scratched his chin, then he lifted himself out of the chair. "I need to go there, find this object, talk to a couple of friends." He walked into a bedroom then came back out five minutes later, slipping on his black leather jacket.

  Ji said he would drop off Larry and Rocko on his way, and would call his doctor friend to drop by and sew up my ear later that morning.

  “Get some sleep while I'm gone. Dr. Jimsic should hopefully get here by ten or eleven.”

  He padded toward the door, then turned back around. “I have a spare bedroom and bathroom. Wash up, eat, drink, whatever. Make sure you get a little bit of sleep. Might be the last sleep you have in a while. Must stay strong.”

  The door shut, and Andi I stared at each other. We then made a beeline toward the kitchen, searching for some type of snack. A few minutes later, we were both conked out in the guest bedroom, once again sharing a king-sized bed, but very comfortable that we could trust each other, and ourselves. And why wouldn't we?

  ***

  “Got the last one right...there!” Dr. Jimsic said with vigor, jarring me out of my self-induced trance.

  Andi removed the rag, now even wetter from my saliva. She held it with two fingers and tossed it in the sink. Through head-splitting pain, I flexed my jaw muscles until I thought I could speak without slurring my words.

  “Have we heard from Satish?” I asked Andi in a raspy tone.

  She shook her head then ran her fingers through her hair.

  Just as my senses were beginning to function at full capacity, the doctor injected me with an antibiotic, mumbling something like, “I'm not going to take a vote on this one.”

  The damn thing looked like it could have pierced the skin of an alligator.

  “Have you ever heard of a pill?”

  Andi nudged my shoulder and spoke to the doctor. "He's cranky...you know, like a little baby when you don't feed him or change his diaper." She glanced down at me, a clever grin forming on her face.

  “Funny,” I said.

  “I'm not a traveling pharmacy. Lucky I had this in my bag,” the doctor said, while cleaning his tools under the faucet, packing them away in his bag. “I'm not sure you'll listen to a doctor, but you need rest. You've lost a fair amount of blood, put your body through a lot of trauma,“ he said, unfolding his sleeves. “Don't want the stitches to break open.”

  I recalled the threshold of pain I'd just endured.

  “No offense, but I have incentive to not see you again—ever,” I said.

  He shrugged his shoulders and cranked the nickel-plated front door handle just as Ji was entering, one of his hands flipping his key chain around his forefinger, the other buried in his jacket pocket.

  “Hey Doc, did you have to amputate?” Ji shot a glance my direction, and I pointed at my ear, which felt like it had been chewed up by a mastiff.

  I heard something behind me. I turned and saw Andi cursing to herself, fiddling with the remote control. Seconds later a huge, wall-mounted flat-panel sprang to life.

  A local San Francisco anchor provided the voice-over as video ran from the crime scene at Chao Town. Andi couldn't figure out how to turn up the volume. The first image came from a news helicopter, the entire half-block and back alley around Chao Town illuminated by flashing blue and red lights from the tops of cars and enormous spotlights, most of which appeared to be strategically placed, likely SFPD-issued. But as the news station segued to
a camera on the ground, more lights came from TV cameras, some shining on reporters.

  This was big. Reporters don't wake up in the middle of the night and put on their Ken or Barbie faces for any old drive-by shooting or gang fight.

  A long shot showed cops unrolling yellow tape, then the video cut to blue-uniformed cops and suits studying the scene below the back alley window, where I'd thrown the automatic rifle. Next shot was of the front, where the glass door had been blown out.

  Andi and I locked eyes. "Do you think?" she asked, wondering, like me, if the assassins had found the Chao Town employee. We knew they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through his head. A sense of dread washed over me, and it felt like blood had been drained from my extremities. I leaned forward, two hands anchored to the back of the white leather sofa.

  “One hell of a crime scene,” Ji said, approaching me after closing the door behind the doctor.

  “Seeing it on camera, after living through it...it's kind of surreal.” Andi folded arms across her chest.

  “There was a guy, a Chao Town employee, hiding under a table by the front door,” I said. “He was literally shaking while offering us the keys so we could leave.“

  “But he wouldn't go with us. Michael tried to convince him, even grab for him, but he wouldn't move. Might have been too scared to move.”

  “Just hope to hell those guys didn't catch him. When we left, the door was fully intact.”

  “You forgot to tell me about this guy when you two were giving me all the details earlier,” Ji said in a slightly scolding tone.

  “Slipped my mind, honestly,” Andi said. “We were so panicked they were going to catch us, just gun us down right there. We pushed open the door and took off running, and we didn't stop until we came across Rocko and Larry.“

  Ji slid off his jacket and folded it over the couch. The black jacket on the white sofa was quite a contrast. Kind of had a 1970s vibe.

  “The worker, he stayed hidden. He wasn't harmed,” Ji said matter-of-factly.

  “Thank God. I felt guilty for not doing more to ensure he was safe. They were after us, not him. Although we still can't figure out why they are after us. Why do they want to fucking kill us?”