GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “Stop, stop!” the man yelled. There was no accent.

  I examined the frame of the man I'd just tackled like a blocking dummy.

  “Josh?”

  He was no dummy.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I tasted copper—again. But this blood snack didn't occur at the hands of some assassin. My boss, Josh, had thrown a hissy fit in the cab, and one of his girly fingernails clipped my face.

  Asshole.

  Ji had ended the temper tantrum with a direct jab to Josh's nose. He wailed like a baby.

  I wiped the corner of my mouth where blood had trickled in, then glanced over at boy genius, sitting in a fold-out chair, surrounded by bags of concrete, discarded trash, and dirt in an abandoned warehouse. The same dilapidated building that Larry and Rocko had led us through on the way to Ji's apartment.

  That felt like weeks ago, but it was only early this morning, just after Andi and I escaped the storm of bullets at Chao Town.

  “You're going to pay for this, Doyle. Oh, you're going to pay dearly,” Josh said to me, closing his eyes, gingerly touching his bloodied nose.

  “Should we put a bullet through his kneecap or chop off his fingers one at a time?” Andi stood two feet away from my smug boss. My eyes met hers, then I glanced over at Ji. He shrugged his shoulders.

  My body looked like a war zone with scrapes, dried blood, bruises that were visible and a few that weren't, and I was pissed, but Andi's comment seemed a bit outrageous—for now. She walked over to me, and we turned our backs to the man we'd just kidnapped.

  “I saw that in a movie once.”

  I nodded, and Ji joined us.

  “Not smart to threaten something that isn't going to happen, although if this skinny prick doesn't tell us what we want to know, need to know, then I might be open to it.” Sarcasm filled my voice.

  Ji opened his leather jacket and revealed a pistol. “Not saying we'll use it on this skinny prick, as you called him. It's our safety net. And it's licensed.”

  I looked over my shoulder and observed Satish, set up with his hotspot in an office about thirty feet away. With his fedora-and-sunglass disguise sitting next to his laptop, his elbow leaned on a desk that didn't appear to be completely level. It didn't faze him. His eyes were focused on the screen.

  “You think he'll be able to learn more about the Chosen Ones?” Andi asked.

  Concerned, she reached over and touched my face.

  “This might hurt, but don't move,” she said.

  I didn't, but I braced for more pain.

  “Got it.”

  “Shit!”

  Everyone looked at me and I stared at Andi, who held an inch-long splinter between two fingers.

  “Thanks. I guess.”

  “That sucker looked like an infection waiting to happen.”

  I winced a bit and realized she was probably spot-on. “To answer your question, I hope so. I still can't wrap my mind around Camila signing such a document.”

  “Too kind, too sweet?” Andi raised an eyebrow, like she was questioning my read on The Natural.

  So was I. “Maybe. I'm questioning everything. But we know her brother was murdered. The pact, or whatever it's named, threatens to kill the next of kin if one of the members breaks the bond. I'm wondering if Camila did just that. And her brother paid the price.”

  Andi ran fingers through her hair, then hit a snag and pulled them out.

  Ji said, “Some of the words used in this so-called pact—comparing themselves to Jesus, calling their minds a higher power, not allowing others to reproduce, the idea of sacrificing one to save others—it reads more like a decree. I've seen other groups with creeds like this.”

  I looked over Ji's shoulder and saw Josh sitting, looked straight ahead, brooding like a little kid.

  “What kind of groups?”

  Ji eyed me then Andi. “Cults.”

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I knew he was right. Jim Jones came to mind. “Maybe one didn't drink the Kool-Aid...not a full glass, anyway.”

  “Camila?”

  “I tell you, she was kidnapped.”

  Andi jerked her head toward Josh. “Like him.”

  “We need information, and we need it quickly,” I said.

  Ji, who'd been trained in a number of interrogation techniques, stepped over to Josh, put a hand on his shoulder and a finger in his face.

  “We tried asking you nicely, but we're not going to wait all night. Tell us where they have Camila and what you and Franco are involved in.” His tone was measured, serious.

  Josh tried to move, but Ji's meaty hand was locked on his shoulder, which annoyed my boss.

  “I told you guys, I don't know shit about any of this!” He brought a hand to his nose then cringed as he touched it.

  “You're a smart guy, Josh. Right? You pretty much tell everyone that,” I said.

  Curling his hand into a fist, Ji brought back his arm.

  “Okay, I know a little,” Josh finally admitted, his hands extending, preparing for the punch.

  “Talk,” Ji said.

  He released a breath. “We had some cash flow issues at Playa last year. Franco stepped in and gave us a cash infusion and became a partner.”

  Josh looked at me, and I could feel my nervous pulse picking up speed. “I never heard anything about this, not even through the rumor mill.”

  “He wanted to remain a silent partner. That's normal, by the way.”

  I nodded.

  “I got to know Franco a bit, and the guy's a real entrepreneur. The next Mark Cuban,” he said. “He told me about this new startup he'd funded. Well, not much about it, other than he knew it would bring in millions, maybe billions. He was interested in the old tunnels that connected into the Playa building, and I told him what I knew about them as well as an abandoned office of some kind off one of the tunnels.“

  Ji's eyes shifted to mine.

  “Franco said the mission of this startup wasn't something he could share, but it would change the world as we know it. It got me excited,” Josh said.

  “Excited enough to be involved in kidnapping, killing?” Andi asked, her eyes on fire.

  “What? No! I have no clue what you're talking about.” His face was contorted. Ji's fist was just three feet from impact, but Josh still didn't fold. I wondered if he was actually telling the truth.

  “All I know is, this new company needed special conditions for their new product, whatever it is. Franco offered me a small piece of this startup in return for the underground space off the tunnel and access to it anytime he needed. I jumped at the offer. And I'm going to make a mint.” His chin arched higher.

  The smug Josh had returned.

  Just then, I heard a squeak. Then I saw a tail slithering in between bags of half-eaten fast food.

  “A rat,” I said to Andi, who nudged closer to me, her arms pressed against her chest.

  “Where is Camila?” I asked Josh directly.

  “I don't know this Camila person. Swear to God.” He held up his hand, his head swiveling between me and Ji, who kept his fist in a cocked position.

  “I've seen a few people come and go through that door in the break room, but never a woman.”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. Satish's huge eyes were two feet away.

  “I think I found the link between The Chosen Ones.”

  I flicked my head, asking Ji to join us, and we moved a few feet away from the prying ears of Josh.

  “The CTO, Rafael; the sales exec, Diego; the congressman, Andre; and yes, Camila and Franco...all were child orphans in Brazil. I'm not sure we'll ever find out if they knew each other as kids, but each of them came to the States in their teen years.”

  “That's their connection. Orphaned kids, maybe no parents at all, living off nothing on the streets of Rio. I've read a lot of stories about this,” I said.

  “So what's the purpose of their group, their cult, given what we've read and now know about their background?” Andi asked.

&
nbsp; “But it's only speculation. We need to find them, maybe stop them. First, we have to find Camila.”

  We all turned back to Josh.

  “What are you looking at me for? I'm not your dinner.”

  “Good to hear you haven't lost your sense of humor,” I said.

  “I'm not laughing,” Ji said, crunching his knuckles, the echo bouncing off the barren ceiling and floor.

  “The key might be getting inside that underground office.” I pursed my lips, knowing I must have been close to the office just hours earlier.

  “Too unpredictable down there. Too restrictive, dark,” Ji said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw another slinky tail hanging outside of a white bag, which was smeared with crusted mustard. I scratched the part of my face that didn't contain an abrasion, and I felt a healthy stubble.

  “We need to entice the rat, bring him out to us,” I said. I grabbed Josh's phone. “Josh is going to text Franco. I'm assuming you have him as a contact?“

  He nodded, wincing at the same time.

  “Is that going to give you heartburn, Josh?”

  “Look, I'm close to pulling in a nice haul. I've...” He paused.

  Ji looked at his own fist, then wrapped his fingers around Josh's shoulder again.

  “It's not like that. I've had my eyes on this sweet beach house down in Santa Monica. I can get it for one point nine five, if I can hurry up and give them a sizable down payment.”

  “Million?” Andi asked.

  Josh shrugged, his eyes admitting his selfishness, greed. “Realtor told me it used to be owned by the guy who directed the original Bourne thriller, The Bourne Identity. Epic.”

  I shook my head.

  “That's perfect. Text Franco, tell him you need to meet and discuss your financial reward. Tell him it's urgent. And make it convincing.”

  Josh took the phone, and his fingers went to work.

  Josh: Hey bro, gotta talk. Big news to share.

  Franco: Busy. Talk tomorrow.

  Josh glanced up; we were looking over his shoulder.

  “You need to convince him to meet you. No other options,” I said.

  Josh: I got a break on a pad down in SM. Price dropped under 2 mil.

  We waited about thirty seconds for a reply.

  Franco: Good for u. I'm busy. Tomorrow.

  “Try harder. Make it Oscar worthy,” I said.

  Josh let out an audible breath then tapped the phone.

  Josh: I'm busy 2, cleaning up all ur shit. I've done u a favor by giving you my space. Need to meet, talk about my payout.

  “That will rattle the cages,” Josh said.

  He was right.

  Franco: Ok, ok.

  “Where to meet?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else.

  “He's a coffee addict. Make it Starbucks, and he's there,” Josh offered.

  “There's one right across from that park, near the fountain with the cool sculpture,” I said.

  Josh started typing.

  Josh: Starbucks in Herman Plaza. See u in one hour.

  Franco: Ok.

  “Satisfied?” Josh asked.

  “Yep.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  My breath twirled into the starless night. Arching my head back, my face felt a mist evolve into a chilly, light sprinkle and I heard the pitter-patter of water flowing over and through the unique metal sculpture at Vaillancourt Fountain. I'd learned that a French Canadian had designed the structure in the early 1970s. Another artistic marvel in San Francisco.

  While not exactly wearing camouflage, I'd decided to be more cautious on this excursion. I stood . . . well, now paced on red pavers in front of the fountain, situated a couple of hundred feet from the Starbucks where Franco was supposed to meet Josh. Of course, I'd volunteered to be his stand-in, and Josh didn't object. He couldn't. We'd left him tied up in the warehouse. We weren't about to release our lone human asset until Franco released Camila—if indeed he had her against her will.

  My body was tired, but the anticipation of finally confronting Franco had reengaged the adrenaline flow. I'd tried like hell to temper that flow until the situation called for a fire-hose dose.

  I'd certainly experienced a few of those recently.

  I checked my broken phone. Turns out the communication function was pretty much shit. But, besides a soft glow, the time appeared to work. Eleven fifteen p.m. Franco was fifteen minutes late. If this was college, I would have walked by now.

  But it wasn't, and there wasn't enough cash in the San Francisco Federal Reserve Bank to keep me from following through with this meeting.

  A thought smacked my brain. I looked south, just on the other side of the Hyatt. White lights sparkled off the Federal Reserve Tower. I held up an arm and pointed to the general direction of the Playa building, then thought about which direction I'd traveled underground.

  The tunnel might include numerous branches spilling out all over the financial district, but it seemed like the direction I'd walked was toward the Federal Reserve. I tried to think through the content of the pact and pondered how robbing a bank fit in with their grand plans.

  I closed my eyes and wiped rain off the bridge of my nose. I wondered if we should have brought in the FBI, just bypassing the local police altogether. I could call Guidry back in Dallas, whom I worked with in my past life, and explain everything.

  Would he actually believe all this shit? We had gathered some decent evidence, but had yet to find the proverbial smoking gun. Hopefully, that would change tonight.

  A young couple walked in my direction from Starbucks, a guy with an afro, his hand buried in the back pocket of his girl's jeans, their gait in perfect tandem. They giggled and toyed with each other, never noticing me or anyone else walking by. A few folks sprinkled the area leading up to Herman Plaza, but Franco wasn't one of them. I'd begun to think his busy schedule didn't include Josh.

  “Michael.”

  The sound of my name made me lurch a bit. I turned around.

  “Larry? What's going on? What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He had on the same outfit from this morning, including the oversized coat.

  “Oh, didn't mean to scare you.” He turned away, observing the water fountain. “You know Bono once climbed to the top of this thing during an open-air concert.“

  “Oh yeah?” Something about Larry seemed distant. What had changed in just a few hours?

  “I'm just out doing a little reconnaissance, on the lookout for a possible place to make a new start.”

  “You're not living up near Rocko?”

  “I was...just need a change sometimes. He's an old coot anyway.”

  I nodded, and he just stared back at me.

  He placed his foot on a bench, which bordered a pool of water coming out of one of the many outlets from the sculpture fountain. “Might be some options at the park across the street.”

  I glanced that way. A few lights illuminated open space, a large cluster of tall, bushy trees nestled in a corner.

  “Yeah, could be.” I touched my pocket and felt a wad of cash, then I looked over at Starbucks. Still, no Franco. “Hey, you want me to buy you something to eat? I'm a bit hungry myself.“

  “I don't want to impose.” A slight grin formed on his face. He leaned over and tied his boot. Out of a pocket, something fell into the water.

  “Oh dammit,” he said.

  “What was that?”

  “My only pair of reading glasses. Getting on up there in age. Can't do much without them. I'll stick my arm in there and grab them.”

  I noticed he had the same pair of gloves, the fingertips cut out.

  “Hold on, I don't want you to get your gloves all wet. I'll reach in and get them.”

  Once I had them in my grips, I turned and offered them to Larry. “Here you go, sir.”

  He wasn't there. I heard a shuffle.

  I turned and saw a huge fist coming at my face. This time, I jerked left, and the punch boun
ced off the side of my head, connecting just enough for light bulbs to flash in front of me. I staggered just a bit.

  “Larry, what the hell is going on?” I touched the side my head.

  He didn't answer. His eyes squeezed closed, but I could have sworn I saw red in there somewhere.

  He threw a left uppercut, which I blocked with my right arm. He followed that with a roundhouse right. I dodged, and it missed my face, but connected with my shoulder—the bad one. I grunted and fell backward. I tried to logically think through why he'd turned on me. But I wasn't going to take another beating while I figured it out. I got low and focused my sights and energy to tackle him. Just as I lunged forward, out of nowhere, a linebacker for the 49ers sent me flying. If he wasn't on the NFL squad, he should try out.

  My bad shoulder crunched hard on the pavers. With my adrenaline now an open spigot, I twisted and squirmed with everything I could to free my arms, roll out from under this dead weight. He fought me, hand to hand. I could sense it was a fight for my life, one I wasn't ready to give up.

  Gaining just enough leg room, I thrust my knee upward, catching him in the jewels. He grabbed his balls, his face turned red, eyes rolling in the back of his head. I squirmed away from the falling Redwood. Up on all fours, panting like a dog in heat, I looked around me, trying to find Larry.

  Instead, two hands, each the size of serving trays, enveloped my head and neck. Stuck in a vice grip, I pulled backward. Before I could move a foot, a felt a sharp prick in my neck, then the guy let go. I fell to the ground, rolled over, and stared into the sky. I saw Larry and the other one—a lean, athletic guy—standing over me, laughing.

  I heard tires squeal. My body was lifted and tossed into a backseat.

  Then I fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A hand tapped my face. "Do you hear me? We only have five minutes." The voice was soft, caring, but full of anxiety.

  I opened one eye, then the other. Camila's face was only a few inches from mine. I could have kissed her—part of me wanted to, needed to. Then I saw tears bubble up, her eyes red. She swiped fingers across her cheeks.